


Velveteen Rabbit

by verboseDescription



Series: To The Moon and Back [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Disabled Character, Fix-It, Gerry Lives, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, melanie and basira are in this too but not enough for me to feel like i deserve to character tag the, not a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verboseDescription/pseuds/verboseDescription
Summary: The middle of the woods is the last place Tim had expected to meet Gerard Keay--mainly because he was sure that he'd been dead for years--but if no one in the Archives would help Tim on his one-man quest to destroy the Circus or die trying then at least Tim still had the most incredible person to ever grace the pages of any of the Archive's statements.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker
Series: To The Moon and Back [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715521
Comments: 78
Kudos: 299





	1. Isle of Misfit Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The island of misfit toys is cold with snow, but at least you're not alone.

It’s pure chance that Tim meets Gerard Keay. 

Or, okay, maybe not chance, because Tim knows where he works and he’s not sure he can say for sure anymore if there’s something out there pulling the strings, but _the point is_ : Tim had never planned on meeting Gerard.

Tim’s plan had been to go on one of his weekly hiking trips, which he had started as a way to scream away his frustrations once Jon had started getting paranoid. The middle of the woods seemed as good a place as any to do just that.

Tim spots Gerard at a clearing at the end of the trail. He’s holding a book in one hand, and leaning on a cane with the other. His dyed hair looks a bit shorter than it was in the picture they had of him in the Archives, but it’s still long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a scattering of piercings on his ears. His fingerless gloves and long black jacket hide his tattoos, but somehow, Tim feels like he could recognize him from his silhouette alone.

“You’re Gerard Keay,” Tim blurts out. Gerard turns around to scowl at him, giving Tim a glimpse of his lightly scarred neck, and Tim belatedly remembers that he’s talking to someone who was once framed for murder. 

“Who wants to know?” Gerard asks.

“I’m Tim Stoker,” Tim begins. “I work at the Magnus Institute, and--”

“Not interested,” Gerard says. He turns sharply, shoving the book back into a black backpack he’d left on the ground and turns to start back walking down the trail.

“Please,” Tim say, ducking back into Gerard’s field of vision. “Listen, I get it, it’s a terrible place to work, but, dude, I’ve--I’ve read about you! You’re the only one in any of the statements that actually gets things _done._ I started working at the Institute to learn more about the Circus, but all I’ve gotten is a bunch of worm scars and shitty coworkers.”

“Sounds like the place hasn’t changed,” Gerry comments. He’s still walking, but has slown down.

“I wouldn’t know,” Tim says bitterly. But Gerard’s talking to him now. That’s a good sign. “Is that book a Leitner? Because I can help you get rid of it! Whatever you need to do, I can--”

“--You’ll do nothing,” Gerard snaps. “I’m not letting this mountain collapse or whatever just because you want to play hero.”

“Does that mean it’s got something to do with the ground, then?” Tim asks. Gerard shoves him away, but Tim follows as Gerard climbs higher. “One of those bury you alive monsters or something? Oh, is _that_ why you went so high up?”

Gerard pauses.

“Yeah,” he admits. He gives Tim a long look. “Where exactly in the Magnus Archives are you working?”

“The Archives,” Tim admits. “I’m an assistant.”

Gerard winces. Yeah. That’s exactly how Tim feels about it, too. 

“Look,” Tim adds. “I get that you want to work alone. I mean, you’re--you’re Gerard freaking Keay. You don’t need anyone’s help. But there’s monsters out there that I want gone, and I’m not going to stop until I get them. So if you won’t help me…”

Tim falters. He realizes he’s not actually in a position to make demands. If Gerard doesn’t help him, Tim will go back to a job he hates and start day-drinking. That’s not really a threat that’ll affect anyone but himself. And possibly Martin, who keeps trying to be his friend, despite it all.

Gerard gives him a long stare.

“Who did they take from you?” he asks.

“My brother.” Tim’s surprised at how quickly he answers. He doesn’t make a habit of telling people what happened to him--no need for complete strangers to know the source of one of his many traumas--but this feels different somehow. A part of Tim feels like Gerard might already know somehow, but that he wants to give Tim take control of how the information gets across. “I couldn’t do anything to save him. I saw him standing on that stage, and I watched them kill him, and the only thing I got was a stupid flyer that tore itself up after I read it. But all that means is that I have a name now. So I know, one way or another, I’m going to tear down The Circus of The Other.”

Gerard nods. He seems genuinely sad that Tim had to go through all that, which Tim doesn’t know how to react to. He’s not really in the right frame of mind to accept sympathy. 

After a moment, Gerard pulls the book back out of his pack.

“I need you to launch this at the sun,” he informs Tim. “The higher it goes, the better.”

Carefully, Tim takes the book.

“I won’t let you down,” he promises.

It’s pretty easy to convince Gerard to go out to lunch after that, which Tim hopes is a good sign. Then again, he did offer to pay for everything, so maybe Gerard just wants free food. He certainly seems hungry enough. Tim’s burger arrives first and Gerard ends up taking half of Tim’s chips while he waits for his own order, though Gerard doesn’t actually eat that much of his own food when it arrives. 

“So, is it cool if I ask how you’re still alive?” Tim asks. “I mean, we looked into you. I think I found your death certificate. Also, weren’t you in America?”

“Dying in America doesn’t count as dying in real life,” Gerard says, surprisingly stone-faced. He takes a bite of his burger. “Truth is though, I came pretty close. Figured I might as well stay there while I recovered. Weren’t any less monsters in America, but at least some of them didn’t know me by name. Might’ve not been that much safer, but it was something, you know?”

“Doesn’t explain why we thought you were dead.”

“Filing problem,” Gerard says, just as serious. “Wasn’t even my fault, honestly.”

“Well isn’t that convenient,” Tim says. What the hell kind of hospital has that bad of a mix-up? People really weren’t joking about the American Healthcare system. Also, was Gerard legally dead? That didn’t seem like the smartest move. Tim was pretty sure you couldn’t have a bank account if you were dead.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Gerard tells him, amused. “I mean, would it really matter to you if I was dead?”

Tim considers this.

“Guess not,” he admits. “You can be a ghost, just so long as you’re a vengeful one.”

Gerard laughs at that.

“I wouldn’t say I’m particularly vengeful, honestly,” he tells Tim. “But it sounds like you’ve got enough fire in you to take out what you’re after on your own. You sure you need me?”

A fair question. The reason Tim hadn’t gone off on his own was because he had assumed that he wouldn’t need to, working at the Magnus Archives. After all, if they couldn’t point him towards who had killed Danny, what were they good for?

Not much, it turned out.

“Maybe I just want a friend,” Tim says. It was a bad lie. He had friends, and he hated all of them. Then again, meeting Gerard had filled him with an oddly powerful sense of hope. Gerard was the guy who got you out of problems. He was the person who fucked with monsters so bad they didn’t fuck back. He saved someone just by talking about their mum. Tim wished he was just _half_ the person Gerard was. Maybe Tim hadn’t been great at playing well with others lately, but he thinks he’d make an exception for Gerard.

“Well, if we’re friends, you can call me Gerry,” Gerard says. He ducks his head behind his bangs. “Not too fond of ‘Gerard’, honestly.”

“Gerry,” Tim says. Gerry gives him a crooked smile. “Suits you.”

“Thanks,” Gerry says. He pushes a strand of hair out of his face. “What makes you so sure I can help you, anyways? You don’t know me. And I know you haven’t read that many statements about me. How do you know working with me will be any better than working at the Archives?”

“Nothing can be worse than the Archives,” Tim says confidently. Gerry shrugs, a nonverbal _“fair enough.”_ “I’m supposed to be a researcher, but they barely tell me anything. And, oh yeah, my boss has been wanted for murder the last couple of months!”

“Murder?” Gerry repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Not Gertrude?”

“No, not Gertrude, but we found her body, too,” Tim says, feeling suddenly tired. How was this a thing he could say about his job? “There’s these tunnels under the Institute. We found this old man down there with his brain smashed in.”

“Well, I was gonna say, if Gertie had killed someone, I didn’t think she’d get caught,” Gerry says. He doesn’t seem phased. Martin finding those bodies had changed Tim’s life, but apparently for Gerry, it was nothing new. “Didn’t know she died though. Sucks for her. Sucks for that old man, too, but if he was hanging around the Archives, he probably was up to no good.”

Tim makes a noise of acknowledgment. Maybe so, but that didn’t mean Tim wanted to find a body at work, and honestly, he’d appreciate a bit more sympathy about it.

“So, what’s your plan?” Tim asks. “I mean, do you just spend all day finding Leitners? Because I can come with you now if you’ve got another lead. In fact, I’d _love_ to help you burn a book.”

“They’re not that easy to track down, you know,” Gerry says. “I’ve got a bunch of different places I reach out to, but even then, there’s only so many leads you can follow in a day. Honestly, I’m just planning on going to some old bookstore and heading home.”

“Bookstores sound fun,” Tim says.

“It won’t be,” Gerry says. “But you can come, if you’d like.”

As far as things that could contain evil magic artefacts, the bookstore looks relatively tame. It’s got a cutesy name that Tim immediately forgets, and a cartoon cat on the door. The cat’s grinning as it shows off a book it’s reading. It’s adorable. It says a lot about Tim’s current mental state that that makes him immediately suspicious.

“I check in with these guys about once a month,” Gerry tells Tim as they walk through the door. “They don’t sell a lot of used books, but the ones they do have are weird as hell. Half the time it’s just a bunch of out of print books no one’s ever heard of, but then I’ll look again and see that they’ve got an original Shakespeare script or something of the like.”

“And you found Leitners here?” Tim asks. He doesn’t even try to keep the doubt out of his voice. This place has a kid’s corner. It sold stuffed animals as “reading buddies.” It was the exact opposite of whatever evil looked like.

“Three, actually,” Gerry says. 

“At that point, why don’t you just burn down the whole store?” Tim asks. Gerry gives him a look

“Because this is a place of business,” he says, like that’s all there is to it. “I’m not going to be the reason the people here lose their jobs.”

With that, Gerry heads to the front of the bookstore to start talking to the cashier, a young woman with blue hair. According to her name tag, her name’s Amy. She smiles when Gerry approaches.

“Back so soon?” she asks.

“How could I stay away from books like,” Gerry pauses and grabs the nearest title to read out loud. “ _How Cycling Will End Polite Society.”_

“Not weird enough for you,” Amy says knowingly.

“I’m only interested in books trying to eat me alive,” Gerry says. Amy laughs. She thinks he’s joking.

As they talk, Tim wanders around the bookstore. He feels a little sick thinking about Gerry finding a Leitner in a place like this. Danny hadn’t known what he was getting into, not really, but at least he had gone somewhere with the intent of discovering the supernatural. But this was a place people went to buy books for their _kids._ What kind of monster would bring a Leitner here? How could they not know what they were selling? How could they _not care?_

Gerry says something that makes Amy look at Tim. Tim gives her a grin and a wink. He _really_ wants to burn this place to the ground.

“Did Gerard tell you about our used book collection?” Amy asks. “I know I’m not going to convince _him_ to buy anything, but we really do have some cool stuff here.”

She pauses, and Tim makes a motion for her to keep talking.

“So, as you can see, we do sell new books, too,” Amy says. “But my manager is really proud of what he calls our ‘Remember The Past’ section. There’s so many great books out there, and it’d be a shame to miss something you could have loved just because it’s out of print. So you can find them here! This month we’re showcasing more action-y books, but we always have romance, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I do like a good romance,” Tim admits. Gerry raises an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll have the time to appreciate one properly.”

“Well, hey, that’s fine,” Amy says. “But if your schedule opens up, feel free to stop by. I’d say you could sell us your old books, too, but unless you have something that’s at least a hundred years old, my boss probably won’t buy it.”

“Your boss has pretty specific tastes,” Tim says. “How do you find so many books like that?”

“Sometimes we buy them from other bookstores,” Amy says. “Or library donations. But some people take pretty good care of their old books. And then, of course, there’s that time someone inherited someone else’s storage room or something and found an entire library.”

“Sounds pretty random,” Tim comments.

“Oh, it definitely is,” Amy laughs. “Everytime someone comes here to sell a book, I never see them again. Of course, most people don’t encounter that many rare books, so I guess that’s fair.”

That made sense, though Tim didn’t like it. He hadn’t realized how hard actually hunting for a Leitner might be.

“Thanks for the information,” Tim tells her, flashing a smile. “I used to work in the publishing industry, actually, but I never paid too much attention to how used books got around. It’s pretty interesting. I can’t imagine trying to sell a book without a distributor.”

“Well, okay, we do have this one guy,” Amy admits. “Have you heard of anyone called Oscar Bailey?”

“You didn’t tell me about him,” Gerry says, sounding slightly offended. Amy shoots him an apologetic look.

“I mean, it felt kind of weird to tell you, honestly,” she says. “No offense, but you did own a bookstore. That kind of makes us enemies, right?”

“That’s absolutely not how it works,” Tim says. “You’re both indie. What you have to do is team up to fight Barnes & Nobles.”

“A noble quest,” Gerry agrees. “That guy you mentioned--he give you any of the weird books?”

“All our books are weird,” Amy says. “But I’m pretty sure you did buy one of his. One book you got, I know it came from this super freaked out girl Rilla--oh, that’s one of the other cashiers, she normally works--met. But apparently he does sell antiques? So I guess he just gives us some of the leftover books.”

“Thanks for your help,” Gerry says, giving her a stiff nod.

“Nice to meet you,” Tim agrees as they head out.

Once they leave the bookstore, Tim grins at Gerry.

“It’s your stupid face,” Gerry grumbles. “It’s too welcoming. People want to tell you things.”

“So, what now?” Tim asks. “We find that guy? Freak him out so bad he thinks twice he so much as looks at an old book again?”

Gerry hands Tim his phone.

“What you’re going to do is give me your number,” Gerry says. “I’m not showing up to someone’s house like an asshole just because they maybe sold a book I don’t like.”

“Kind of seems like you’re oversimplifying that,” Tim comments, but he gives Gerry his number.

“Not everything has to be complicated,” Gerry says. He takes his phone back and texts Tim a skull emoji. Cute. Tim’s going to put him in his phone as “Hot Goth.”

“But we can fight that guy, yeah?” Tim asks.

“I don’t _fight_ people,” Gerry scowls. “I save them from their own bad choices. Like I said, this isn’t about revenge.”

“Can’t I do both?” Tim asks.

“It’s always going to come down to one or the other,” Gerry says. The force of his stare makes Tim take a step back. “You’ll have to choose which means more to you, eventually.”

Tim bites his tongue. He wants to tell Gerry that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, except obviously he does, because he’s _Gerry Keay._ Tim might be angry, but he’s not stupid. And he knows Gerry’s not going to want to work with someone planning on going out in a blaze of glory.

“Well, today, I choose you,” Tim says. It’s not much of a promise, but it’s the best Tim can do.

Gerry just nods. It's enough.

It’s never easy to go back to work, but knowing that Tim could be helping out Gerry instead makes it worse. And Jon’s back, but he’s also still wanted for murder which does make it a bit awkward. Especially since Tim is still trying to convince the Institute that Jon really is a murderer and unless they all quit, he’ll come after them, too.

Needless to say, Martin’s not too happy about it. Martin thinks it’s cruel to spread that kind of rumors when they all know he’s innocent, but to be fair, Tim had tried telling people Elias was the real murderer. Everyone had just found that way less believable.

Honestly, Tim had never really thought that Jon could kill anyone. Mentally, yeah, he’d been giving off pretty strong murder vibes, but Jon had _terrible_ upper-body strength. He couldn’t even carry some of the heavier boxes in the Archives, much less bash someone’s head in. Also, there were the worm scars, which Tim knew sometimes made his muscles ache. It was honestly kind of ridiculous that he was still a suspect despite all that. If Tim cared more, he’d say it was a very obvious case of profiling, but talking about the flaws in the prison system wasn’t really going to get someone to quit their job at a research institute.

Truth was though, Tim did care. It was hard to look at Jon, and see the limpness of his burnt hand (his right, but not his dominant hand, so thank G-d for that, at least) or the bags under his eyes and not feel some pity. The problem was that when Tim saw Jon, he remembered that they had been friends. Remembered that there had been a point in time where instead of being worried about being trapped or murdered, Tim had listened to Jon rant for half an hour about how much he hated sweatpants, and anyone who wore them to work, which now included Tim. (“But don’t you ever want to feel comfortable?” Tim had asked. _“I’m never comfortable”_ )

Seeing Jon meant that Tim saw the awkward way he positioned his arms, and Tim would immediately know whether it was from pain or the simple desire to hold his arms like a dinosaur solely based on the angle. 

Tim knows Jon well enough to know that he’s got one of those hyper-specific novelty shirts that he refuses to admit he actually owns, and that Jon describes his type as “the opposite of whoever you’re trying to set me up with, _Tim_.” He knows that Jon has horrible handwriting, that he once dislocated his shoulder trying to get a pencil that had fallen behind his desk and he knows that even with all these memories, Jon could be replaced at any time and he’d never know.

Because that was what had happened with Sasha, wasn’t it? He knew her. He loved her. And it hadn’t been enough. She had saved his life, and they couldn’t save her. He knew how she took her coffee, that she was Latina, only now he couldn’t remember what _country_ because he remembers Sasha having a small Costa Rican flag on her desk, but had disappeared long before her impersonator did and it was hard to trust his own memories, after everything.

He knows that she was the one to encourage him to hold an anti-christmas holiday party which he had meant it as a joke, honestly, but it turned out there were enough people in the Institute fed up with how utterly _christian_ their holiday party was that it had gone really well, and half of that was because of Sasha’s steller organizational skills.

She used to paint her nails based on the colors of her feelings, but after Prentiss, they were always gray. Tim should have realized that Sasha would know that trauma was a more interesting color, but he hadn’t known. 

Jon should have known.

What was _the point_ in having powers that let you know everything if you couldn’t save your friend? What other use could Jon _have_ if Tim was still mourning Sasha, months too late?

He should have _known._ He should have been able to **_save her,_ ** but they had all been _useless_ and now _Sasha James was_ **_dead_ ** and he didn’t even know what she _looked like_ anymore.

Sasha was DEAD and there was NOTHING THEY COULD DO THERE WAS NOTHING TIM COULD DO THERE WAS NOTHING JON COULD DO HE _SHOULD HAVE KNOWN_ HE SHOULD HAVE LOVED HER ENOUGH TO SEE THROUGH IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN SMARTER BETTER **STRONGER**

WHY COULDN’T YOU SAVE HER? HOW COULD YOU LET THE WORLD KEEP TURNING WITHOUT SASHA IN IT???

But Jon didn’t come in today, so it’s fine. Really, it is. It means that Tim doesn’t actually have to think about all that. He can just do his work instead.

  
  


Pretty soon, Tim starts going out to lunch with Gerry. It’s a nice break from the neverending horror of working at the Archives, and a good chance to finally get some information. Tim had been slowly making his way through the Institute’s library ever since he had first gotten hired, but hadn’t really talked to anyone about it until Gerry. Gerry had so many wonderful opinions on everything. He thought the authors were all hacks trying to act like they knew more than they really did. It kind of cute how Gerry would wrinkle his nose with each name Tim mentioned.

And of course, they talked about the statements Tim had been going through, too. Unfortunately, none of the ones he had seen lately looked all too important. Sure, that thing about a guy finding out his gym was weird as hell, but it’s not like body modification was _illegal_ or anything. Well, the way they had done it in the statement probably was, but that didn’t make it _Tim’s_ problem.

“Please tell me you have something for me to steal from Artefact Storage,” Tim begs once he sits down next to Gerry. “I have no idea what any of these statements mean and I really don’t care.”

“Sounds like the Archives,” Gerry says. 

“How much do you know about the Archives, anyways?” Tim asks. “You didn’t work there, did you?”

“My dad did, but no, I know way too much about what goes on down there to ever agree to that,” Gerry responds. “I did help Gertrude for a bit, though. I almost didn’t even meet Elias, but when he offered me a job, I told him I was contract only.”

Tim squints at Gerry.

“And that _worked?”_

“Said I’d be reimbursed for my expenses if I kept the receipts,” Gerry says. “Never actually got around to claiming them, though, what with my sudden and horrible brush with death and all.”

“Guess that’s the price of faking your own death,” Tim says. Gerry snorts.

“I looked up the guy Amy mentioned,” Gerry says. “He won’t be back in the country for a while, which means my schedule’s open for a while. So. You got anything causing you trouble?”

“I would _love_ something to beat up, but no,” Tim groans. He pauses. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. “I did see a monster in the tunnels. Well, two of them, actually. There was this really stretched-out woman who wanted to kill me and a coworker, but this other guy shoved us through a door first.”

“Oh, that’s just Michael,” Gerry says. He doesn’t sound worried. “I can’t kill it. I still owe it one.”

“It’s your friend?” Tim asks. He pushes his plate away from himself, feeling suddenly sick. “It trapped us in those corridors for weeks.”

“It does that,” Gerry agrees mildly.

“It’s a monster.”

“It is,” Gerry says. “But it probably won’t hurt you. It likes the Institute. And it sounds like it saved us both, so I think we owe it.”

Tim frowns. Yeah, Michael had kind of saved him and Martin from whatever that woman was, but trapping someone in a cage to keep them away from a wild animal was still trapping them in a cage. Except existing in Michael's hallways had been the worst experience of Tim’s life. He barely remembered it, other than the pressure of Martin’s hand in his, and the absolute certainty that he would never escape.

But then he had. Or Michael had let them go. Either way, not an experience he wanted to repeat. Which meant fighting Michael wouldn’t be worth it.

“The other one’s not your friend, though, right?” Tim asks. “The NotThem, they’re called. They… they took my friend.”

“Dekker fought that one, I think,” Gerry says. “If he didn’t kill it, it probably can’t be killed.”

“But we can still try, right?” Tim asks. “I mean, come on, everything’s got to have some weak spot.”

“It does. And I’m sure he used it,” Gerry replies. “But yeah, sure. Might be something in your Artefact Storage could help. NotThem’s a Stranger, which means they don’t want to be known. Means they’ll hate anything related to the Eye, which we are. The good part of that is, though, if you’ve got a strong enough Beholding artefact, we might be able to do some real damage. Probably shouldn’t go hunting through that place, though. I’ll see what I can find.”

“How do you find out stuff like that, anyway?” Tim asks. “I mean, you’re giving these things pretty specific names. That’s Smirke’s Fourteen, yeah? But he doesn’t say anything about how to destroy them for good.”

“You know about the Fourteen?” Gerry says, impressed.

“I’ve been looking into Smirke,” Tim explains. “My brother… it happened in one of his buildings.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Gerry frowns. “You picked the right guy to look into, though. Pretty much everyone I know uses his way of classifying everything. Honestly, he’s not as much of an expert as everyone makes him out to be, but he could have been worse.”

“Well, if you know someone better, I’m all ears,” Tim says. “I’m sure there’s got to be a recommended reading list for spooky stuff. Give me a whole course load.”

Gerry snorts.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “You gonna finish your lunch?”

Tim stares down at his plate, then at Gerry’s.

“You haven’t even finished your own lunch,” Tim says. 

“Yeah, because now I want to try what you have,” Gerry says. “You can have mine.”

Tim rolls his eyes but swaps the plates. Gerry beams at him. 

“So do you have like, a network?” Tim asks. “Are there a lot of people out there hunting Leitners?”

“There’s not a lot of… people,” Gerry replies, putting an uncomfortable emphasis on the last word of his sentence. “There’ll always be someone interested in Leitners, but that doesn’t mean they want it for a noble reason.”

“Not like you,” Tim says. Gerry laughs at that.

“All I have are petty reasons,” he says. “Mum loved books more than me, so now I burn books.”

“What was up with her and the books, anyways?” Tim asks. “She just have the hots for Leitner?”

“Never say that again,” Gerry tells him, wrinkling his nose. “All she wanted was power. Thought she could get his books to work for her without getting in too deep. She was always talking about how she was the only one who understood what they really were, but the only thing she really got was her book of endings.”

“Book of endings?” Tim repeats, confused.

“It’s _disgusting,”_ Gerry hisses. “All it does is trap whatever’s left of someone when she’s done with them in her book. Surprised she wanted to stay in there herself after hearing them all complain about how much it hurt them, but I guess some people get really stupid about immortality.”

“Is that why they thought you killed her?” Tim regrets his question the minute it’s out of his mouth. Gerry freezes and drops his glass of water. “Shit! Sorry, it’s not my business. Here, let me…”

Gerry remains frozen, staring owlishly as Tim tries to clean the water off the table.

“You don’t have to answer,” Tim says. “I get it. I mean, not really, but I can’t imagine that’s the kind of experience someone would want to relive. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Tim wanted to say he understood having a complicated relationship with your parents, but that felt like an understatement. Tim’s mum was a lot of things, but she’d never gotten him framed for murder. 

“I was just… surprised,” Gerry says, physically shaking himself out of his stupor. He starts slowly fidgeting with his jacket zipper. “I guess I figured if you knew, you wouldn’t of waited so long to ask.”

“Didn’t seem relevant,” Tim shrugs. He’d been too focused on the possibility of finally getting revenge that he hadn’t stopped to think much about Gerry’s own morals. “I mean, obviously, whatever happened, you’re still a good person.”

“Oh,” Gerry says. “Uh. Thanks.”

Tim shrugs again. He had just figured there had to be more to the story. And Mary had still been living with Gerry afterwards, so if he had killed her, clearly she didn’t mind.

“You really don’t want to know what happened,” Gerry adds. “Just. It involves a lot of skinning, and writing on skin. She wanted my help, but I couldn’t… And, well, something like that makes a pretty big mess.”

“Oh,” Tim says. He doesn’t want to know more. It’s not like he couldn’t have guessed some of this from the statement, but it’s definitely not his favorite mental image.

“A bit more than you were expecting?” Gerry asks.

“All of my parental trauma is a bit less supernatural,” Tim admits. “You know, lots of screaming, a few threats, not enough hugs, but _definitely_ no evil books.”

Gerry hums in acknowledgment. There’s an awkward pause. No surprise there. Talking about trauma tended to end conversations pretty quickly.

“Sounds like Leitners attract a lot of weirdos,” Tim says eventually. Gerry starts to laugh.

“You do realize I met you because of a Leitner, right?” he asks. “I wouldn’t have gone hiking otherwise.”

“Well, that’s not on me,” Tim insists. “Hiking’s probably the only normal thing I do these days. You should try it more often. Fresh air’s good for you.”

Gerry shoots him a dirty look, then looks down at his cane.

“There’s plenty of nice hikes that aren’t too much work,” Tim says. “It’s not like all forests are the same, you know. There’s a lot of short trails, and some of them have pretty flat paths, too. I’ll take you some time. Always good to go through a stroll in the woods.”

Gerry looks unconvinced.

“You’ll have a great time,” Tim says. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Gerry says, amused.

Because it’s much easier to find a bookseller than it is to kill a monster, they don’t go looking for the NotThem. And Gerry’s already found a surprising amount about Bailey.

According to Gerry, Oscar Bailey used to work for Mikele Salesa, who had died just after he announced his retirement. A celebration to end his work as one of the most well-known sellers of supernatural artefacts ended in an explosion where Salesa had gotten crushed by shrapnel.

Apparently, this did not put his former employee off of selling Leitners.

Salesa, Gerry explains, hand waving emphatically as he talks, did not fuck with Leitners. Whatever other kind of supernatural shit he got into, he knew a Leitner would never be worth the pain it’d take to find it.

Gerry seemed very certain that Salesa would be disappointed in his employee that he was selling books, mainly because he clearly wasn’t selling them at the right price.

“A businessman through and through,” Tim says.

Gerry brings with him a small arsenal of goods. His lighter is hidden in one of his many jacket pockets, as well as a shockingly large amount of lighter fluid and cash while his backpack holds a pocket knife, several eye-themed knick-knacks, and two water bottles.

Well, at least if all else failed, they’d go down hydrated.

They find someone at the dock, but it’s not Bailey they’re looking for. It turns out, though, that doesn’t matter, because this man needs their help, too. He’s covered in blood, though it doesn’t look like his own. When he spots the two of them, the man falls to his knees.

“Please,” he begs. “You have to help us. We didn’t… We didn’t know! We didn’t think it was _alive.”_

“Get up,” Gerry says. The man sobs instead. “You’re not going to die. Leave now, you’ll be fine. You have the rest of your life to live. The real trouble hasn’t found you yet.”

The man nods, and scrambles back up. He runs off before Tim can ask what exactly he’s talking about. Somehow, Gerry still seems to know what to do. He takes off, cane clicking as he strides to one of the docked boats. It’s a cargo ship, but there’s nothing on it. No people, no cargo, nothing.

Nothing but the smell of blood.

Gerry folds his cane into his backpack as they step onto the ship. He shouldn’t know where he’s going, but he does. It reminds Tim of Jon for a second, and everything Elias has said about his _new abilities._ But Gerry isn’t pulling information from anywhere. Just following a fear back to its source. Was that really all that different?

Yes. It had to be. There was no force in any of Gerry’s questions. No sound of static that tried to pry your mouth open and take the story inside. Gerry was human. He just… had things under control.

Tim doesn’t know what to call the room they’ve ended up in. Was it still a basement if you were on a boat? Whatever. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the bodies lying limp on the floor, the people still living sobbing, tears streaked with blood and the porcelain creature prowling past them like a wolf still on the hunt.

It’s not a wolf, though. Tim doesn’t know why he knows this, but he’s certain it’s true. It looks like a wolf, from the right angle, despite being a painted statue. It has the claws of a wolf, though, or something like one. The teeth, too.

It just doesn’t have the right face. Too human, and too _painted._ It reminds Tim of a clown.

He doesn’t like it.

There’s music playing, but Tim can’t find the source. What he can tell, though, is that this not-wolf is moving with the music. That’s how he knows they’re safe now. The music is too slow for fighting, but it’s picking up speed. And Tim hasn’t joined the dance, not like the poor sailors he sees around him. The not-wolf is _toying_ with them. It’s like… musical chairs. Or a very frightening dance number in a musical. One by one, those men are going to die. The not-wolf prances around them in a careful pattern. With each pounce, it gets a little closer to one of the men, swiping deeper and deeper into his skin.

“Shit,” Gerry says, searching through his bag. “I hate dealing with artifacts like this.”

“Does that mean you don’t have a _plan?”_ Tim asks. “You looked so confident.”

“I only have one plan,” Gerry says. “I burn it. If that doesn’t work, I figure out what comes next.”

He starts scanning the room as the not-wolf turns towards them.

“Guess it’s up to me, then,” Tim says. The not-wolf tenses, ready to pounce. Before Gerry or common sense can stop him, Tim leaps at the creature, knocking it down before it can jump them. Tim hears a sound like breaking porcelain. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

Tim tries to put the not-wolf in a headlock as it struggles against him. The creature's claws scratch him, and Tim feels something wet on his skin, but he’s certain it didn’t scratch him deep enough for it to be blood. His skin can’t be that sensitive, can it? The music grows louder, and so does the frenzied scratching on Tim’s skin. Gerry’s trying to destroy the beast. Tim can hear Gerry scratching away at the creature’s back. Bits of porcelain float down around him, but it’s not enough. The not-wolf doesn’t even notice.

“This isn’t working,” Tim hisses.

“I know,” Gerry grunts back. “Of course it wouldn’t. We need to stop the music.”

“It could be coming from anywhere,” Tim says, still gritting his teeth.

“Not anywhere,” Gerry says. “Give me five seconds.”

Tim tries to make some noise of acknowledgment, but he’s still wrestling a wild animal. It comes out as a strangled yell. A few moments later, Tim hears a music box smash to the ground. The not-wolf freezes, suddenly completely motionless.

Tim pauses. The creature still doesn’t move, so he hesitantly loosens his grasp and stands up. The sailors look better, too. Most have collapsed in relief, but they look at Gerry and Tim with a mixture of awe and fear. Tim’s not surprised. He’s sure he’s a real sight now; blood dripping down his arms, his face still ready for a fight.

“You all got off easy,” Gerry tells the sailors. “Next time, it’ll be your life. Remember that.”

With that, he leads Tim off the ship. No one tries to stop them. Gerry brings the not-wolf with them, slinging it over one shoulder and pushing Tim with his other hand. They break the not-wolf into pieces small enough that Gerry can stick them all into his pockets. Even though it had attacked Tim, he feels a little bad about that. If it hadn’t been so creepy, it could have been beautiful.

“I’ll deal with that later,” Gerry tells Tim. “We should probably get you cleaned up first.”

“Oh,” Tim says. He suddenly remembers how numb his arms are. That’s right. He was bleeding. “Yeah. Okay.”

They go back to Gerry’s flat, mainly because it’s closer. 

It doesn’t look like how Tim thought a flat owned by Gerry would look, honestly. For one thing, it’s not very lived in. And it’s cleaner than he had expected. Tim doesn’t know why he thought Gerry would be a messy person, actually. It’s just he always seems so organized when they talk about supernatural stuff that a part of Tim was hoping to find some small flaw.

“Be careful about the blood,” Gerry says lightly. “I’ve only lived here for a few months. There’s still plenty of time to make a mess of this place.”

“That makes sense,” Tim says as Gerry leads him to the bathroom. “You were in America before, right?”

“Yeah,” Gerry says. He turns on the sink and fishes out a medicine kit. “I mean, I was already in America when my cancer started getting really bad, and Gertrude… left so it wasn’t like there was any reason for me to stay, but there wasn’t really any reason for me to go, so. I didn’t. Had a pretty nice place in Pittsburgh for a while, actually. Well, nice as things can be, when you’re in Pittsburgh. Hold out your arm.”

Tim does. Gerry dabs the blood away with water and turns off the sink.

“What made you come back?” Tim asks. Gerry pauses, disinfectant in hand. He looks up at Tim and chews on his lip. 

“I thought I could be useful,” Gerry says softly. He doesn’t look at Tim as he says this, or offer up any more information.

“Well, I’m glad you came back,” Tim tells Gerry as he finishes cleaning Tim’s wounds. “I’m glad I met you.”

Gerry looks at the claw marks on Tim’s body and raises an eyebrow. Tim smiles. He doesn’t say that he’s sure he would have ended up much worse, if he hadn’t had Gerry there to look after him. Doesn’t say that the not-wolf had been circling him like the hunter it was, and all Tim had been thinking about was how he didn’t want to be its prey. 

“This is nothing,” Tim says instead. “It is making me question your whole lifestyle, though. I can’t imagine going out and doing something like that again tomorrow.”

“Well, I don’t go running at wild animals,” Gerry responds as he finally starts bandaging up Tim’s scratches. “And I don’t do this every day. Not anymore, at least. The day I met you, the only thing I had planned was to toss that Leitner.”

“That’s still work, though,” Tim argues. “Don’t you have any non-spooky hobbies?”

Gerry doesn’t answer.

“I like to paint,” Gerry offers eventually. “Haven’t done that in some time, though.”

Tim doesn’t ask why. He’s spent enough time with Gerry to notice that he’s got some trouble with coordination. Tim could see the awkward way he walks, and he can see how much focus he’s putting into the act of helping Tim. Tim appreciates it, but he knows enough about tumors to make a guess about what changed.

“You don’t have a favorite show or anything?” Tim asks instead.

“I don’t watch a lot of telly,” Gerry says. “It always feels so fake.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Tim says.

“I guess,” Gerry says. He examines Tim’s new bandages and nods. “That should do it. You’re a real lunatic, you know, starting a fight with an artefact like that. What’d you do if it killed you?”

“Think that’s pretty self-explanatory,” Tim says. “If I’m dead, I wouldn’t care.”

“You’d be surprised what the dead care about,” Gerry says. It’s a bit ominous, but Tim thinks he might find it charming. “You can stay, if you’d like. Don’t know how much blood you lost, but you should probably rest a bit.”

“Show me around your flat first?” Tim asks.

“Not much to show,” Gerry says, but he does anyway.

There’s a painting of an eye hung up in the apartment near some very neatly packed away art supplies. It might not be an eye, actually. It looks like a universe curled into a circle. It’s beautiful. There’s words scribbled underneath in careful calligraphy.

_Grant us the sight that we may not know._

_Grant us the scent that we may not catch._

_Grant us the sound that we may not call._

Was it a poem, or a prayer? Tim doesn’t get the chance to ask, because he’s already distracted at the fact that Gerry owns a pen in the shape of a pickle and a ketchup bottle pin.

“There’s a museum in Pittsburgh,” Gerry says before Tim can open his mouth.

“A pickle museum?” Tim asks.

“The Senator John Heinz History Museum,” Gerry clarifies. He grins. “So, no. It’s more of a ketchup museum.”

Tim picks up the pickle pen.

“I want you to know,” he tells Gerry. “That I know three things about America. And this is one of them.”

“Did you know,” Gerry says, still grinning. “That Heinz Ketchup only used to hire women? They wanted to make sure Americans knew that their product tasted homemade, so of course they had to hire the people who would’ve made it at home. And they had to let everyone know it was made by people actually washing their hands, I guess.”

Tim snorts at that.

“Sounds like a pretty effective marketing strategy to me,” he says. “What made you want to go to some ketchup museum, anyways?”

Gerry shrugs.

“Didn’t want to die in a town I knew nothing about,” he says, surprisingly casual. “Gertrude left, so the only ones who knew me were the nurses. Guess I just wanted to know that there was someone out there who knew me outside of a hospital.”

Gerry pauses.

“Sorry,” he says. “You probably don’t want to hear about all of that.”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Tim replies.

“It’s depressing as hell, though,” Gerry says. He takes the pen Tim had been holding and sets it back down on a table, then goes to sit down on his couch.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me anything,” Tim tells him, following Gerry to the couch. “But you’re the only one who’s told me anything about, well, _anything._ I trust you. And I like you. So if you want to vent…”

“You like me?” Gerry asks.

“I like you,” Tim confirms. “There’s no one else I’d rather fight whatever the fuck that was with.”

Gerry gives Tim a small smile. Then he leans back and the smile fades.

“It was lonely,” Gerry says. “I didn’t go to as many appointments as I should have. Honestly, half the time I went, it was because Michael messed with the doors. I owe it for that. But it still felt wrong. Everyone just… expected me to have someone, and it made me want to claw out of my skin. I didn’t have anyone to take me to appointments, or anyone who would know if I was losing time--hell, I didn’t even have anyone to tell me that most people didn’t forget their entire week just because they talked to their mom. I didn’t know how to be sick, so I pretended I wasn’t. That’s why I never told Gertrude. I think a part of me hoped she’d figure it out on her own, but…”

But she hadn’t. Because even though they had traveled together, all they’d been were work friends.

“She was the one who called the ambulance for me,” Gerry adds. “So it’s not like she didn’t care. She just… She didn’t know. There’s no way she could have known.”

It sounds like Gerry’s convincing himself more than trying to convince Tim, but Tim’s not sure if he cares about whether or not she knew. The fact that she left just seems damning enough.

“I kind of thought she’d find me,” Gerry admits. “Once I got back to London. It’s not like I was looking forward to it or anything, but when she left… I guess I just didn’t want to really believe it’d be for good.”

What does Tim say to that? The way Gerry talked about Gertrude was almost loving. And she had left him. She had left him in a _hospital,_ and he was making excuses for her. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand. Tim had a pretty shitty relationship with his own parents and if it hadn’t been for therapy, and a very eye-opening conversation at Danny’s funeral, he might still believe they loved him, despite it all.

“Sorry,” Gerry says. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I know I’m kind of a mess. Wouldn’t blame you if you’re feeling a bit disappointed. You seemed to have pretty high hopes when you met me.”

“Of course I’m not disappointed,” Tim says. Hesitantly, he reaches over and grabs Gerry’s hand. “Listen, I-I know how much it sucks when people leave. I mean, Gertrude still could have meant to come back, before she died. But that doesn’t change anything, does it? If someone doesn’t go because they want to, you’re still the one who has to figure out how to live without them.”

Tim thinks of Danny. He thinks of smiling at NotSasha, and her responding with an arched eyebrow. He hadn’t known why he had expected her to smile back, but the fact that she hadn’t had made him feel like his world was over. He knew his brain overreacted to things like that, sometimes, and at the time, he thought that was all it was.

“I won’t leave you,” Tim tells Gerry. “Maybe I can’t promise that, but I want to. After all the disappearances I’ve looked into for the Archives--after everyone who disappeared on _me--_ I won’t let anyone get rid of me that easy. Either I go out with a bang so loud all of London hears, or I’m staying here for all of eternity.”

“Here?” Gerry asks, a smile slowly working its way onto his face. “On my couch, really? For all of eternity?”

Tim shrugs.

“There are worse places to be,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt of a statement never given:  
> ... the man had told us the artist had made this creature after a trip to a circus. I did not tell him that this looked like no circus animal I had ever seen, though it wore the collar of one. The man told us never to bring this creature near music, for like any good stage animal, it would not hesitate to perform.  
> I wish we had listened.
> 
> Up next: a monster gets involved in Tim's love life, and Tim finally talks to his coworkers.


	2. 20 Feather-Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going back to actually talking to his friends is harder then Tim had thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The princess tosses and turns above her mattresses. Despite the comfort her new room brings her, she cannot sleep a wink. No one has told her about the pea, but she knows that is something wrong. And until it is fixed, she will have no rest.
> 
> This chapter has much more talk about Gerry, and his relationship with Gertrude, as well as more discussions about his cancer. These are both warnings.  
> Also, shout out to Tumblr user gerrydelano for letting me use his WONDERFUL idea of what pets Gerry should have, which you can find a post about here:  
> https://gerrydelano.tumblr.com/post/614594167620943872/what-kind-of-pet-do-you-think-gerry-would-have

Going back to the Magnus Institute after hanging out with Gerry never felt great, but today, the feeling’s worse. It’s a little like having the best massage of your life then immediately being forced to run a marathon. 

He had felt so _happy_ at Gerry’s. It was a shame that life had to keep coming along and ruining things. Couldn’t he just spend some time with a nice goth in tight trousers? Was that really so much to ask for?

The worst part is that when he gets down to the Archives, the door is yellow. Tim sighs.

“I’m not an idiot, you know,” Tim tells the door. “I know what you are. You’re not getting me a second time.”

The door opens, and a very put-out Michael walks through. It folds its arms. Tim thinks it might be pouting.

“I was simply inviting you to my home,” Michael says. “As a guest. I would have offered you tea, Assistant, had you not been so rude to me. Tea, Assistant!”

“Gee, thanks,” Tim says dryly. “So what’s with the change in heart?”

“Our mutual many-eyed friend seems fond of you,” Michael says cheerfully. “So I have decided to like you as well. Unless, of course, you fail him. Then I will rip your heart out with my teeth.”

Tim blinks.

“Wait,” he says. “Is this--are you telling me he _likes_ me?”

“So handsome,” Michael says, shaking its head. Its neck extends a bit too fair and Michael’s head bobs to the side of its body. “And yet you have a mind as empty and as beautiful as a balloon.”

“Shut up,” Tim tells it. He’s not sure why he feels so offended that a monster insulted him. “Does he like me _romantically,_ I mean. Is this you telling me not to break his heart?”

“I would be a terrible friend if I revealed something as personal as that!” Michael laughs. “You make him feel less alone. I cannot. The Book Burner deserves happiness. That is all there is to it.”

“Sounds like you’re saying he likes me,” Tim says. Michael smiles. “Why do you care, though? You’re a monster. You make people knock on your door, and you eat them. But you saved me. And suddenly, you seem pretty interested in my love life.”

Michael tilts its head slightly. The door’s a different color now, but still not the color it should be.

“Michael made a promise,” Michael says. “Despite what I may want to think, the Archives will always contain our friends.”

“What does that _mean?”_ Tim asks. He stills. “Did you… Did you _work here?”_

Michael grins loudly. Tim covers his ears.

“Michael did,” it says. Then it walks through its door and closes it. 

The Archives go back to normal. Well. As normal as they usually get, anyways.

“Tim?” Jon calls. Tim turns. He hadn’t noticed Jon walking up to him. Downsides of talking to a creature that distorted reality, probably.

“Oh,” Tim says. The fact that he’s wearing long sleeves means Jon’s not going to see his injuries, but Tim still backs away as Jon approaches. Jon wilts. His right hand still looked limp and useless. He’s wearing an oversized jumper over a skirt. There’s no buttons. “Hey, boss.”

“Were you--that is to say--I mean, you were talking to…,” Jon trails off, still searching for a way to end his sentence without making it a question.

“I know who Michael is, Jon,” Tim says. “Well, sort of. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him, at least. Apparently, he doesn’t want to hurt me. Anymore.”

“I see,” Jon says, nodding slowly. Tim opens the door to the Archives for him. “And this change of heart is because…?”

“Think its friend has a crush on me,” Tim says. He realizes his mistake when Jon’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets in surprise. “A human! A human friend.”

“Michael has--,” Jon frowns. “I suppose that’s not all that surprising. It was human once.”

“It was?” Tim says. “So it really did work here, then?”

“Michael Shelley was one of Gertrude’s assistants,” Jon confirms. “I don’t know much more than that. I’m sorry.”

“More than I knew at least,” Tim says with a shrug. He sits down at his desk and pauses. “It said… it said that the people who worked at the Archives are still its friends. Or still _Michael’s_ friends.”

“I suppose we should be grateful something so powerful is on our side,” Jon says. He grimaces.

“I should tell it if it hurts you, I won’t hang out with its friend anymore,” Tim agrees. “Then it’ll _really_ be on our side.” 

Jon snorts.

“It’s good to see that you’re still using your many talents in service of the Archives,” he says.

“You know me,” Tim says. He doesn’t make another joke, though he can see Jon’s hoping he will. “I guess I _could_ help you out, though. Got a statement you need someone to follow up on?”

Jon’s eyes go wide again.

“Is it really so hard to believe I’m going to do my job?” Tim snaps.

“No!” Jon says hurriedly. “I’m--I’d love your help, Tim. I just hadn’t expected… Well. I really would love your help.”

“There’s no need for all that,” Tim says. He rubs his temples. He really doesn’t want Jon suddenly kissing up to him because he’s decided to be less of a jerk, especially when it’s taking all of Tim’s energy just to stay civil. Looking at Jon’s pockmarked skin still makes his own scars itch. He hates that his body keeps betraying him like that, but it looks like no matter what Tim does, a part of him will still hum in sympathy. “Look, just give me a statement so I can get out of your hair. We’re here to do work, right? Not make friends.”

Jon flinches. He looks down at his shoes. They’re untied.

“Right,” Jon says. “Of course. Thank you for your professionalism.”

And with that, Jon’s gone.

“Are you really going to work now?” Martin asks. Of course he heard the whole thing. There’s no privacy at all in this office.

“I’ve realized something very important about myself,” Tim tells him. “I want to kill monsters. Seems to me that this is the best place to find some.”

“You mean like what Daisy does?” Martin asks hesitantly. Tim winces. He doesn’t like Daisy. Aside from the encounter with Elias, he’s seen her twice, and it was two times too much.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I don’t want any part of it,” Tim says. “I’m thinking more like, burning books, or chucking a possessed mirror into the ocean.”

“Who’s burning books?” Basira asks, walking in. Speaking of books, she’s got a pile of them with her.

“Only evil ones,” Tim promises. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your education.”

Basira rolls her eyes.

Jon comes out of his office about an hour later fiddling with some papers.

“I’m going out,” he says.

“We don’t care,” Melanie tells him. Martin glares at her. Jon looks back down at his paper.

“I was only going to say,” Jon says slowly. “That I planned on looking into Breekon and Hope. They, ah, were the ones to send the table.”

Tim stands up so fast his chair falls down.

“I don’t expect to find much,” Jon warns. “We might only find an abandoned office.”

“Might not, though,” Tim says.

They find an abandoned office. Tim grits his teeth. He’s not going to scream, because if he does, Jon’s not going to let him work on any important statement again. Martin’s eyes Tim as he prowls around the abandoned office. It’s pretty clear Martin expects him to get angry. Probably half of the reason why he came along was to make sure Tim didn’t end up screaming at Jon or something. Well, he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of another breakdown. He could be normal for another five minutes. He wasn’t going to let them keep looking at him like a bomb about to go off.

“There’s a note from Elias,” Jon says. The note’s sitting on one of the desks, carefully placed on top of a mess of papers and billing addresses. Jon picks it up and frowns. “It’s a statement.”

Martin and Tim both groan.

“He couldn’t have given that to before you got here?” Tim asks. “Couldn’t of let us feel at least a _little_ prepared?”

G-d, this was why he hated his job so much. Who broke into a shipping company to give someone something that they could have found if they had an organized filing system? It could have taken them _seconds,_ but instead they had to go all the way to Nottingham to pick up a _piece of paper_.

“I suppose I should… read it?” Jon says hesitantly.

“Not with me here, you won’t,” Tim replies. There’s an office in the back of the room. Tim tries the door. Unlocked. Inside, there’s--

“There’s a dead body here,” Tim announces.

“A _dead body?”_ Martin yelps. Jon’s already making his way to the office door.

“Oh,” he says. He sounds tired. “I don’t know what I expected. Yes, that is most certainly a dead body. Judging from those marks, it appears something clawed its way _out_ of his body, which is...”

Jon trails off, looking slightly sick. Tim kind of hates this. It’s boring, and there’s dead people. He wants Gerry. At least if Gerry had found a dead body, he’d know how to be cool about it.

“I assume this is the real Mr. Breekon,” Jon concludes. He frowns down at the body. “Seeing as I have his statement right here. It’s a shame none of us could help him.”

“So they’re more body snatchers then,” Tim says. “Those delivery men.” 

“It doesn’t seem as though they’re still using this space,” Jon says. “Or his skin.”

Tim shudders at the thought. Jon reaches his hand out, prepared to offer some sympathy, but thinks better of it.

“Probably don’t need the space, at least,” Tim says. He ignores the gesture. “Can’t imagine anyone who wants to pay you to move an evil table around would care about doing things by the books.”

“They were still filling out an account book, though,” Martin says. He’s rifling through the desk. “And shipping logs. Looks like they haven’t been updated since 2013, though.”

“Right,” Tim sighs. “So this was all pointless.”

“It’s not _pointless,”_ Martin begins, but Tim’s already making his way back out the door.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tim says. “I’ve got a date, anyways. I’ll meet you back at the Archives.”

“I thought you wanted to _help,”_ Jon mutters, quiet enough that Tim can pretend he didn’t hear, though of course Tim’s not going to choose the opinion that makes _him_ more comfortable.

“Jon,” Tim says. He turns around. “Do you know what it feels like to be stalked?”

“What?” Jon says. “I don’t--”

“That was ages ago, Tim,” Martin interrupts, voice near pleading.

“Maybe it was,” Tim says. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t _hurt._ Do you know what it was like, Jon, going back to my flat after Prentiss? I wasn’t sure she was really dead. I mean, if the worms hadn’t killed her, how could we? And then, wouldn’t you know it, I started seeing someone standing outside my home. Watching me. Waiting.”

Jon’s face pales in understanding. Martin looks away.

“So I start thinking to myself,” Tim continues. “Maybe it’s her. Maybe she’s come back to finish the job. But whoever it is never comes in. And they’re not always there, so there’s nothing I can do, not really. So after a real fun night of wondering if worms will eat me in my sleep, I go to work, where I find out that it's my _boss._ Because he doesn’t _trust me._ As if I didn’t go through the worst of it, right alongside him.”

“Tim,” Jon says.

“So I’m _sorry,”_ Tim hisses. “If I want a little more than an _apology_ for being terrorized for _weeks.”_

He opens the door. Jon looks like he’s going to protest, to say that Tim was exaggerating, or to remind him how much had happened since then _,_ but all he does instead is look at the ground.

“Have fun on your date,” Jon says eventually. 

“You don’t get to tell me that,” Tim says.

Gerry had invited Tim out because he wanted to prove he had other hobbies than running into trouble. It’s some kind of art show. It’s outside, and the weather’s nice, for London, so it’s a fun change of pace. Gerry buys at least one thing from every booth selling jewelry. It doesn’t look like price is something he’s worried about, which is kind of interesting. How much money did Gerry have, anyways? And where did he get it all? You definitely didn’t make enough cash to be flying around the world on a bookseller’s salary.

“I have my ways,” Gerry says, when Tim finally asks. “Also, my mum did loads of sketchy shit, and now I’ve got all her cash.”

"Well, at least it’s going to a good cause,” Tim snorts.

“I’m a real patron of the arts,” Gerry agrees.

“Do you do this everywhere you go?” Tim asks. “Just walk around and buy everything you can find?”

“Kind of,” Gerry says. “I like buying souvenirs. I’ve been to a lot of places. It’s nice to bring something back that isn’t a scar.”

He rubs a patch of burnt skin near his wrist as he says this.

“And that’s why you bought a pickle,” Tim says. Gerry laughs.

“I bought a shirt, too,” he admits. “Don’t know why. I didn’t even buy it at the gift shop! There were just so many other places selling them and a part of me thought it’d be funny and well, it’s not like there was anyone around to stop me.”

“I absolutely would not have stopped you,” Tim informs him. “I say, if you want to advertise for ketchup, then go ahead.”

Gerry snorts.

“I’m sure the Flesh would take it as an invitation,” he mutters, mostly to himself. It takes Tim a second to get the joke.

“Have you met _cannibals?”_ Tim asks. “Like, real ones?”

“Do they count as cannibals if they’re not really people anymore, though?” Gerry replies. 

Tim makes a noise he hopes conveys the full spectrum of his disgust. Gerry laughs, then freezes. He tugs Tim’s shirt and brings them over to a booth with a detailed mirror that’s clearly caught Gerry’s eye.

“Did you make this?” Gerry asks the man at the booth. His voice is steady in a way that makes Tim think he’s about to scream. Judging by his expression, the man thinks the same.

“Uh, no,” the man admits. “A friend gave it to me. She told me to get rid of it and, well, I was already selling portraits today, so…”

“I’ll buy it,” Gerry says quickly. He pulls out a stack of bills from his pocket. It’s _definitely_ too much. They all see that.

“Are you sure…?” The man begins. Gerry stares. The man takes the money.

“Let me get you a receipt,” he says.

Once they get out of hearing distance, Gerry relaxes. He shoots Tim an apologetic look.

“It’s possessed, isn’t it?” Tim asks.

“Maybe not possessed, but definitely marked,” Gerry says. “Sorry. I did want this to be normal. But this kind of thing always happens around me.”

“What like, _everywhere?”_ Tim frowns. “What happens if you go into a Starbucks?”

“The last time I bought coffee, I ended up getting caught by the Spiral,” Gerry says. “Wasn’t too bad, honestly. I didn’t even realize I’d gone somewhere till Michael came to take me home.”

“The Spiral’s the one that messes with reality, right?” Tim asks. “Isn’t that what Michael does too?”

“Oh, he wasn’t the one who trapped me,” Gerry reassures him. That hadn’t been what Tim had meant. Tim had been mainly asking because he hadn’t thought monsters could go against their instincts. Michael and whatever trapped Gerry were both Spirals, which meant they _should_ be on the same team, right? Did they have a fight about it? “Said I wasn’t making myself a very good snack, and that I might as well get myself back to reality.”

“Glad to hear that all you need to do to escape is act like everything’s really boring,” Tim jokes. “Oh, are those walls weeping? Probably just some paint! Nothing to worry about here.”

“I would have noticed if it was that obvious,” Gerry rolls his eyes. “I should have expected it, honestly. I guess I kind of asked for this.”

“What, by destroying all those Leitners?” Tim asks. Gerry shakes his head.

“That was the price,” he says. “Of knowing. If I wanted to Know, then I’d have to be _known._ It’s not like everyone always knows where I am, but… something will always find me. Not that much different from before, honestly. Everyone in this business knows who my mum was. Probably should just be glad that I’ve caused enough trouble that they don’t think of me just as her son.”

“Sounds pretty dangerous,” Tim comments. He’s trying to keep the anger out of his voice, but he feels betrayed. He doesn’t know why. He should want Gerry to tell him about his life, right? But he doesn’t want to know this. He doesn’t want Gerry’s tattoos to be anything more than decoration. “So why’d you do it?”

“Life’s always been dangerous,” Gerry says. He sounds surprised Tim might think differently. “There was no way I was going to last on my own, and living with Mum left me marked in more ways than one. At least this way, I’d know what was going to come next.”

Tim opens his mouth. Closes it. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand the desire. The urge to know. No matter how much he argued with Jon, Tim couldn’t lie about that. He wanted someone to show him how to save himself. He wanted someone to show him how to still be okay. If the Eye could promise him that kind of knowledge, maybe he’d hate the Archives a little less.

Or maybe all that meant was that what he really wanted was to just go back to therapy.

Either way, it wasn’t like Gerry was a _monster._ He wasn’t like _Jon_. He couldn’t be. Everything Tim did with Gerry, he did because he wanted to. Anything he said, he wanted to say. The only things that had to worry about Gerard Keay were the things making the world a bad place, and Tim definitely wasn’t one of them.

“So what does that make you, then?” Tim asks. “I mean, everyone’s calling Jon ‘the Archivist’ now. You got your own fancy monster title?”

“Not yet,” Gerry says. “Right now, I’m just another idiot trying to sell their soul.”

“And you’re _okay_ with that?” Tim snaps. Gerry looks at him, eyes wide in surprise. “Sorry, sorry. I just… why?”

“It’s not like I ever really knew how to be human, anyways,” Gerry says. “Still am, though that matters less than you’d think. All I ever asked for was one thing. And yeah, it made me a little weirder, but I’m still me. If I kept asking, I’d keep changing. But I don’t need anything else.”

“Sounds like you’ve got some pretty great self-control,” Tim says, a bit too bitter. Jon, he thinks, wouldn’t stop. Jon never knew how to leave well enough alone.

“Maybe I just know what happens when you ask for too much,” Gerry snaps. Tim blinks. Gerry does, too. They both seem surprised by his tone--he hadn’t even sounded _angry,_ just angry for _Gerry_ \--but to be fair, it’s Tim’s fault. He shouldn't be acting like what Gerry was doing was anything like feeling the constant stare of the Archives.

“Sorry,” Tim says. “It’s… It’s not you. It’s just…”

“It’s fine,” Gerry says. He holds the mirror up. “I, uh, should probably destroy this now, though. Don’t know if you want to go back to the Archives, or…”

“I really don’t care if I miss work,” Tim says. “Whatever you’re about to do is probably much cooler, anyways.”

“It might be,” Gerry agrees. “Could just be me breaking a mirror.”

“Still gives you 7 years of bad luck, doesn’t it?” Tim retorts. “Sounds like that could make for a pretty exciting afternoon.”

“Oh, well, as long as _you’re_ having fun,” Gerry says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, then.”

Gerry leads them away from the crowd. Before Tim can ask what he’s planning to do, Gerry throws the mirror onto the pavement. The glass shatters with a loud crack and a small fog of smoke hisses out of it.

“Oh, better not touch that,” Gerry says, tugging Tim back. “Probably won’t hurt you, but you’ll have a miserable afternoon.”

Tim holds his breath.

“You don’t have to be that careful,” Gerry adds. He nudges Tim gently. “I’ve got your back.”

“What would happen if I _did_ touch it?” Tim asks.

“You’d probably just feel kind of depressed, honestly,” Gerry says. “It’s part of the Lonely, so, you know, it’s got to be something that isolates you, or makes you want to abandon your friends.”

So nothing Tim hadn’t dealt with before, then.

Gerry steps forward and grinds the glass under the heel of his boot.

“Pretty easy to deal with, honestly, as long as you’ve got someone with you,” he continues. “If you’re close enough to hold someone’s hand, you’re close enough to pull someone out of a supernatural fog.”

Gerry steps back and Tim grabs his hand.

“Oh,” Gerry says. “Uh. I wouldn’t need any help escaping from the Lonely, though. I’ve got too many eyes for it to try and take me.”

“I kind of figured,” Tim says. “Want to get lunch?”

Gerry looks down and squeezes Tim’s hand.

“Sure,” he says.

  
  


So Gerry’s got a crush.

It’s a weird feeling to have. Not falling in love, but falling in love with someone who was _right there._ It’s not like Gerry’s never had a crush before. He’s just never gotten this far with one before. He’s met guys he’s slept with, and he’s met guys he’s liked, but very rarely did they stick around, especially not for as long as Tim had. 

And _yeah_ , he was aware how sad that sounded, but in his defense, he didn’t meet a lot of very romanceable guys. 

Tim, though, is _very_ romanceable.

He’s also, excluding Michael, Gerry’s only friend.

Was it a bad idea to date your only friend? Should he even be counting Michael as his friend? Gerry wasn’t sure. What he _was_ sure of though, was, judging from the wave of dizziness he had gotten from trying to stand, was that he was not leaving his bed today.

It kind of sucked. POTS kind of sucked in general. It sucked that he had developed a chronic illness just because he got his cancer treated. It sucked to know that he was like, _just_ out of the age range of people likely to develop it, but his body had to go and get it anyways. It sucked that he was actually taking care of his body and doing everything he was supposed to, and he still feels like shit sometimes _._ And it sucked that even though he’s gotten used to waking up and swooning, his first thought is always about his cancer. It sucked because remission didn’t mean he was free, just that he was free _for now._ It sucked because he probably _could_ get out of bed, but even if he did, it wouldn’t change the fact that he had promised Tim they’d check out a suspicious taxidermy shop and there was no way that was happening now. He’d probably be fine if it was just walking, but Gerry didn’t want to take the chance that he’d pass out running away from a Stranger.

Which means he should probably text Tim and tell him that. Even though he really wanted to see Tim.

Ugh. _Feelings._

Tim texts him back pretty quickly, asking if Gerry’s sick and if he wants Tim to bring him soup.

 _“That desperate to leave work?”_ Gerry asks.

 _“Maybe I’m just desperate to see you,”_ Tim replies.

Gerry drops his phone. It buzzes again, and Gerry hesitantly picks it back up.

 _“Sorry, that was probably a bit much,”_ Tim sends, as if he hadn’t just made Gerry swoon in delight. _“I don’t want you to think I’m only hanging out with you because I’m getting something out of it. Monsters or not, you’re still a pretty cool dude.”_

 _“You can come if you want,”_ Gerry types. _“I’m not sick, but if you want to buy me food, I won’t say no.”_

Tim says he’ll come over soon.

It’s weird to have someone who wants to fuss over you, especially since the last person who asked Gerry how he was feeling was a nurse. Gertrude never really even asked how he was doing. Just asked if he thought he’d be able to make it to whatever bullshit they had planned for the day. He had had a bit of a breakdown over that after his last seizure, actually. He had traveled with Gertrude because she got rid of his mum, which meant she had saved his life, except, clearly she _hadn’t,_ because Gerry was just as sad and alone with her as he had been when his mum was still living. He had still been losing days, and the only one who noticed was a creature tied to the concept of losing your mind. 

Michael had made Gerry his first appointment, and had made Gerry go by making the door to his house lead back into a hospital. Michael had even let Gerry sob in its hallway because he didn’t want to be just another patient crying in a hospital. It had even tried to bend itself to make him smile, turning the dye in his hair into snakes, and changing the swirling fractals on its walls into the shape of eyes, and skulls, or whatever else Michael thought seemed goth. It had been a nice gesture, but it hadn’t helped, not when Gerry had felt so betrayed.

Gerry had pledged himself to knowing, and to being known, and still, no one had noticed he was sick. He could have died there, and then there’d be nothing of him left other than a few stories in the Archives.

He thought he was fine with people not really knowing him. Fine with the only context they had of him being the person that’d helped them when they needed it. And maybe he would have been, if he hadn’t thought he’d die unknown to himself, too.

He could handle the dissociation. Gerry had been dealing with that long before the cancer had taken root in his brain. What he couldn’t handle was the forgetting. The idea that even without his poor mental health, he’d be struggling to remember how fast days were supposed to go by. That any day, he could have a seizure so terrible his body would forget how to move his arm, and he’d never get it back. And of course, the Beholding wouldn’t warn him about that _._ Why would it care that he was losing his mind? Why would it care that this had scared him so badly, he’d almost cried out for his mum, despite it all?

His hair had looked terrible, too. Back when he first arrived at the hospital, he means. 

It certainly hadn’t been his biggest problem, but at the time, it had been at least half of the reason for his breakdown. Almost everything others knew about him was in what they saw, and he couldn’t even drag his dying ass to a salon so he’d look like himself. Couldn’t even get his shaking hands to work long enough to fix his eyeliner.

It just _wasn’t fair._

If Michael hadn’t helped him, Gerry would have never known. It was hard not to think about that. Hard not to remember how quickly his life had almost ended, and how it had nothing to do with any of the bad decisions he had made. He hadn’t realized how much of his symptoms had lined up with a brain tumor until a doctor had told him, and even then, he had still had his doubts.

Gerry would have died without Michael’s interference, and Michael had only helped because Michael Shelley had worked with his dad. It was a weird way to form a friendship, especially when Michael still called him Delano sometimes. Gerry never knew how much the Distortion was able to separate the two of them.

Still. Eric Delano must have made one hell of an impression for Michael to have remembered it, even if the only thing it had said on the matter was that all Eric had wanted was to keep Gerry safe.

So thanks, Dad.

Tim comes by with takeaway. He’s in a good mood because, apparently, his boss is out, and Elias says he’s probably not coming back for a while. If _Elias_ is the one telling Tim his boss is out, it’s suspicious by default, but Gerry’ll wait until he feels better to figure that out. Instead, Gerry eats his Chinese food and listens to Tim rant about office drama which, for the Archives, means that someone means that someone named Melanie’s trying to kill Elias. Gerry’s rooting for her. 

“Elias told us that we’d all die if we killed him,” Tim says. “Any chance he was bluffing?”

Gerry chews on his chopsticks.

“Well, it definitely wouldn’t be fun, I’m sure of that,” he says. “But Elias is the _Eye._ What’s that got to do with death?”

“Thought so,” Tim says, mouth full of rice. “So, worst-case scenario: we kill Elias. What happens next?”

“Not sure anything would happen to _you,_ honestly,” Gerry admits. “You’re pretty human. But it still might make you a target. Just working at the Archives offers you some protection, but if Elias dies, so does that safety net. Could mean another fear would try and scoop you up. Could mean working with the Eye was preventing you from turning into something else. Might mess with your head, too. Lose some memories, I guess. Or lose your eyes.”

Tim winces.

“Could be worse, I guess,” he admits. “Well, Melanie’s pretty capable. I’m sure I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Gerry raises an eyebrow, but Tim doesn’t seem to realize how morbid he sounds.

“Well, thanks for coming over,” Gerry says. “Still don’t really feel like going to that shop, though. I can’t shake the feeling that if we did go, we’d end up being run out, and I’m not up for that.”

“Honestly, I’m kind of glad we’re not going,” Tim admits. He puts his food down and rubs the back of his head. “I actually met a bunch of people who work around there when I was still in publishing.”

“Don’t want to let them know how weird your life’s gotten?” Gerry asks, amused.

“It’s not the _weird_ that’s the problem,” Tim says. “I just don’t think I know how to talk to them anymore. It’s like… how am i supposed to even begin to explain what I’m doing right now? I could probably tell them the truth, honestly. But that’s the worst part, because I know they’d just think it was a joke.”

“Probably better that way,” Gerry says. Tim sighs.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “They’ll see me, and figure I’m just playing a joke, classic Tim. Acting like he can handle horror when he was publishing children’s books, of all things. Meanwhile, here we are, looking to find some freak pretending to be a human. How do you deal with it?”

“It’s different with me,” Gerry says. “I don’t really have a _before._ This is all I’ve ever been doing. Also, children’s books?”

“It’s formative literature,” Tim says. “That stuff’s important. Also, come on! There's no way that everyone you meet knows about… all of this.”

Tim gestures vaguely with his chopsticks.

“If I’m talking to someone, they’ve probably been marked by _something_ ,” Gerry shrugs. “Even if they don’t understand what I’m saying, they deserve to know. I don’t really know any other way to start a conversation, so that kind of limits my chats with any of London’s more normal residents.”

The look on Tim’s face confirms to Gerry that yes, this is kind of sad. That’s okay. Gerry had expected as much.

“So,” Gerry says. “Anything else going at the Institute?”

“Oh no, you’ve heard me talk about myself long enough,” Tim says. “Let’s hear about you. Like, did I see a snake here? When did _that_ happen?”

“I’ve had Absynthe long before I met you,” Gerry laughs. “You didn’t notice her last time?”

“To be fair, I was a little distracted,” Tim says.

“Well, she’s a Mystic Potion Ball Python **,** ” Gerry says proudly. “Got her some time last year, so she’s still a bit small. Want to meet her?”

“Sure,” Tim says. Gerry stands up slowly and leads them to Absynthe’s cage. “Why a snake, though?”

“Dunno,” Gerry says, which was a complete lie. Gerry could write an entire _essay_ about how great snakes were. “I mean, you know how it is, I guess. Mum wasn’t much for pets, and I traveled too much to get one, after, but now that I’ve got the time, why not? A roommate I had in Pittsburgh actually had a snake, too. Didn’t realize how sweet they were till then.”

Gerry’s roommate had told him that he looked like someone who deserved to have a snake, and he was proud to announce that they were right. Snakes were the best. He needed to get another one to keep Absynthe company. A Highway Morph, maybe. They were expensive as hell, but Gerry had never been one to care about money.

“Hey, Abby,” Gerry coos, slowly lifting the top to her habitat and holding out his hand. He sees Absynthe’s pale grey and white form slither out of her resting place near a piece of wood and up his arm. “Hey baby.”

Gerry moves his arm over to Tim, who’s own hands hover above the snake awkwardly.

“Do I just… pet her?” he asks. “I’ve never really held a snake before.”

“Just stick your hand out, same as you’d do for a dog,” Gerry says. “Don’t spook her. Go slow.”

Absynthe sticks her tongue out as Tim draws closer.

“It’s fine,” Gerry reassures him. “She’s not going to hurt you. Are you, princess?”

Absynthe doesn’t so much as twitch at the nickname, but that doesn’t stop Gerry from cooing some more. He doesn’t mind. Everyone’s got their own way of showing love.

Absynthe wiggles her way off Gerry’s hand and onto Tim’s. Tim’s eyes widen as he feels her scales on his skin.

“Hey Absynthe,” Tim tells the snake. “Nice to meet you, girl.”

Gerry grins.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Gerry says. He’s glad Tim seems to like her. Gerry knows that some people get weird about snakes, and he knows some people don’t think they really show affection, but Absynthe will sit on Gerry’s arm for _days_ if he lets her. Gerry thinks that kind of warm embrace is more than just coexistence. Or if that’s all it is, then maybe coexistence is it’s own kind of love.

“She’s a hugger, for sure,” Tim agrees. He pokes her snout to stop her from crawling too far up his arm, so Gerry takes her back and wraps her around his shoulders. Tim laughs at that.

“You’re really in love with her, huh?” Tim says. “Even made her her own little nameplate.”

Gery glances back to Absynthe’s cage, which does, in fact, have a name tag he had drawn out back when he’d first gotten her. It’s just her name, in the most impressive font Gerry could manage--because it’s what a lady like her _deserves--_ with some skulls and crossbows hovering around, along with a couple freaky potion-looking vials, and a drawing of Absynthe herself circling it all, like an Ouroboros. Once again, exactly what she deserves.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without her,” Gerry admits. “She’s good company. A good model, too. Drew her a bit today.”

“So you _can_ draw something that’s not eyes,” Tim jokes. Then, more carefully, “Can I see?”

Gerry frowns, carefully adjusting Absynthe on one arm as he considers this.

“You don’t have to,” Tim tells him.

“Sure,” Gerry says. But he kind of wants to. Gerry’s never really had a conversation about his art, especially not one unrelated to drawings of his entity. He’s not sure he’s really had a conversation with Tim that’s so completely unrelated to an entity, either, actually. Well, unrelated to an entity or Gerry’s tumor. It feels like a good sign.

“Give me a second,” Gerry says and goes to get his sketchbook. It’s a heavy book with a black cover, filled with references tucked into the pages. Gerry flips to one of his attempts to draw Michael. It’s impossible, of course, but Gerry had managed to get the shape of it right. Michael had loved the drawing. It had said that hands like Gerry’s were probably the only kind that could get that much right, which was a nice thought. Even if he couldn’t draw how he used to, he was getting to be a pro at drawing like this.

“You’ve really captured that smile,” Tim says. Gerry preens. He knew. It looked cool as hell. “It looks cool as hell.”

“Naturally,” Gerry says. He lets Tim flip through. The next couple pages are Absynthe, and Tim tells him he’s really captured her beauty.

“Hear that?” Gerry tells Absynthe. “He thinks you’re _beautiful.”_

“They say pets often resemble their owners,” Tim says offhandedly as he crouches down to sit on the floor, still looking through Gerry’s sketchbook. Gerry hides his face in Absynthe, knowing full well Tim can’t see how red Gerry’s blushing. Then he moves Absynthe off him for a moment to lean against the wall and slowly slide down next to Tim.

With each page he goes through, Tim gives Gerry another compliment. Gerry scoots closer. It’s nice. It feels normal. It feels like something he could have.

And then Tim gets to Gerry’s drawing of him. It’s still a good drawing. Gerry hadn’t drawn too much of the body--even though Tim had a _really_ great body--because he’d been so focused on getting the face right. Tim had a specific kind of casualness to the way he smiled. It was a look that made you feel safe. Gerry didn’t see it often enough. Despite his jokes, Tim generally looked pretty serious. Not that Gerry could blame him. It was hard to relax when you worked in a place like the Archives.

“Sorry,” Gerry says. He’s not sure why. “Probably should have asked before I sketched you.”

“It’s pretty good,” Tim says, and _there’s_ that smile Gerry had been missing. It was the face of a man who wanted to have fun. Who wanted _you_ to have fun. Tim inches closer, putting his hand on Gerry’s leg. “You been spending a lot of time staring at my face, Gerry?”

“Maybe,” Gerry says. “I just draw things I like.”

Tim’s still moving closer. He pushes a strand of hair out of Gerry’s face. Gerry tries, and fails, not to make a big deal about it.

“Just so you know,” Tim whispers. “You’ve got a pretty great face, too.”

Gerry puts his hand on Tim’s. He opens his mouth to tell Tim to _at least_ wait until he put his snake down, though a part of him wants to tell Tim that if he wanted to make a move, he didn’t have to be so _bloody_ slow, but--

“No,” Gerry says.

“No?” Tim repeats. He’s already moving away, hands out in front to show he won’t make another move. “Did I--were you not--”

“I was,” Gerry confirms. “But we shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re an Assistant,” Gerry sighs. “And that means you’re going to die.”

Tim laughs at that.

“What?” he asks. “What does that matter? Of course working at the Archives is going to kill me eventually, but that’s what I’m hanging out with you for, isn’t it? To set me straight--well, not _straight_ , but you know.”

“All Assistants stop being, one way or another,” Gerry says. “The more you get involved, the more likely it is that something kills you. And you didn’t think your Archivist was telling you enough terrible things about the world, so you came to me. So what do you think will happen to you?”

“And what about _you_?” Tim shoots back. “If it’s so dangerous, then why do you keep trying to save people?”

“I didn’t get a _choice_ ,” Gerry scowls. “The best way to live with the fears is to make sure they don’t notice you. But they were always going to spot me, because I’ve always been living in fear. Because I was already marked a hundred different ways before I turned ten. They were never going to let me be _free._ But that doesn’t mean I don’t give myself _anchors._ You want to know why I have this place? Because before this, I was living above my mum’s bookstore. But I wanted something to return to, instead of just somewhere I slept when I wasn’t traveling. I don’t think you know how hard it is to stay yourself doing this, Tim. And honestly, I’m not sure you care.”

“Gertrude was the Archivist for forty years,” Tim says. Stubborn asshole. “And you don’t think I can last another year?”

“Gertrude left me in a hospital bed.” Gerry stands up too quickly and the way his vision swarms just makes him angrier. He clutches the first thing he finds to steady him, which of course is Absynthe’s cage. Poor girl doesn’t know whether or not to go back in, so Gerry wiggles his arm a bit, just enough to make her want to. No point in them both getting worked up. When Absynthe’s back home, Gerry turns to Tim.

“You know what my last memory of her is? The last time I saw the woman who promised me we’d save the _world_ together? She was standing over me with a pen. Waiting for me to die so she could turn me into a book, just like my mum. And she didn’t even have the decency to be _ashamed._ She was ready to tear my soul out, and all she said was, ‘oh.’ _Oh._ She didn’t even bother trying to find an excuse. Just told me she was pleased I made it through the night. As if that makes up for it. So, yeah, maybe Gertrude made it forty years, but I don’t think you’re like Gertrude, Tim. I think you’re better. The problem is, there’s no good people fighting monsters. Because people like Gertrude Robinson grind them up and use them for spare parts.”

Gerry’s shaking. There’s a hand on his shoulder. Tim’s? Yes. It had to be Tim. Who else was there?

“I thought you said you still wanted to work with Gertrude,” Tim says.

“It wasn’t that,” Gerry says, softly. “I just knew I’d go with her, if she asked. And that’s why I never looked.”

Gerry’s head is still pounding. He takes a deep breath and slides back down to the floor.

“I put off surgery for her,” Gerry says, and he _hates_ the way his voice cracks. Hates that it’s been three years and he still feels like he’ll never get over this. “I figured whatever was going on with me wasn’t as important as the end of the world. I had something to take for the seizures, anyways, and Gertrude needed my help. I tried so hard to keep going, but it didn’t even matter. She couldn’t even wait _a week._ She couldn’t even…”

Gerry trails off. He’s not sure what else there is to say. He doesn’t even really know _why_ he stayed with Gertrude for so long in the first place. All he knew was that she had said she wanted him to stay, so he did. Should he have had a better reason? Maybe. But it wasn’t like he had anyone else to miss him.

And he knew she cared about him, as much as Gertrude cared about anyone, but all that meant was that he hadn’t been prepared to see the full extent of her callousness. He had known better than to trust her, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t _hurt._ Gerry of all people should have known how fast she used up her assistants.

Tim kneels down to face Gerry at eye level, gently putting his hands on Gerry’s arms.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Tim insists. Gerry looks away.

“You can’t promise that,” he says. “You don’t even believe that.”

Gerry hears Tim take a breath, but he doesn’t argue. Of course not. People didn’t come to Gerry because they wanted to live a long life, and Tim had already admitted that for him, this was about revenge. You couldn’t live like that. Revenge didn’t anchor you to anything but fear. You could burn white-hot with the Desolation, or maybe, if you were lucky, find the sharp determination to wait out your enemies with Terminus. But there was no going back from a deal like that. Gerry would know. He had made one, after all. Or half of one, at least. And he knew it wasn’t for Tim. Which only left one option. 

“If you die,” Gerry says. “It’s going to be more than I can take. _”_

“I know,” Tim says. He’s standing close enough that Gerry can feel the warmth of his body. They’re almost hugging. But Tim doesn’t promise anything. Of course not. He had already told Gerry exactly what he was going to do. Either live forever, or die in a blaze of glory, right? The problem with the Archives was, there would always be a chance to burn. “I know.”

  
  


Gerry’s not sure if he’ll ever say it out loud, but he thinks he might have known Gertrude was always going to leave him. After all, all the signs were there. Especially towards the end. Gerry doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the weird look Gertrude gave him when she said that she’d explain her plans, just as soon as they got back to London.

And the thing is, Gertrude had always been exactly who she was when he first met her. Always putting the world before the people, always painting the picture without filling in the details. She cared about him, Gerry knew that, but Gertrude rarely made her decisions based on something as fickle as emotion.

Gerry doesn’t even remember how they met.

Well--that’s not exactly true. He remembers what happened. He’s just not sure he was there for it. Had Gertrude even promised to destroy his mum, or had he imagined it? He remembers her showing him Mary’s burnt pages, so she _had_ done it, in the end. He remembers handing the book over, and warning Gertrude just how many days she’d have before Mum would be back to full power. Gertrude had thanked him for his diligence. Wasn’t that. Mary was just the only thing in his life he needed to plan around. 

Gertrude had promised him that she was stronger than his mother, and she was. She had promised him that he’d never have to see his mother again, and he never did. Gertrude didn’t lie to him, and he supposed he should be grateful for that, because he knew she was never so kind to his dad.

But that didn’t mean she was good to him. He should have paid more attention to what she said. Gertrude hadn’t promised to kill his mum, only to stop him from seeing her. She hadn’t even promised to save him.

She must have known, of course, that Gerry would consider it a miracle. There he had been, for all those years, begging for the Eye to take him. To save him. And suddenly, here was its Archivist.

But the Eye never warned him she was in need of another Assistant, and the Eye never warned him that the Archivist would always come first. Of course not. Why would it?

It was foolish of him to think that he had been saved just because someone cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> excerpt from a statement never given:  
> ... the first time I looked in the mirror, I saw myself but somehow, my reflection was in the wrong place. My friends had a party the week before, and I couldn't go--my work had called me in rather unexpectedly, and I didn't feel right turning them down--but there I was. Having the time of my life. I was kicking myself for missing such a great party when clearly, according to the mirror, I would have had a great time.... The next time I missed something, I used the mirror again. Only, I didn't see myself this time. Just my friends. And they... they didn't even miss me.
> 
> next time: Martin remembers to tell Tim about the evil clowns. Jon forgets to ask the name of a handsome stranger


	3. Frog & Toad Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the hardest thing in the world, Tim thinks, to talk about your feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if we are brave,” said Frog.  
> Frog and Toad got out their head-shots and looked at them for a long time. “We look brave,” said Frog.  
> “Yes, but are we?” asked Toad.

Martin’s looking at Tim pace around the Archives with a careful expression people normally reserved for watching wild animals that get a bit too close.

Martin’s the only one that looks worried, though. Melanie and Basira are both ignoring him. Melanie, by playing a game on her phone and Basira with, of course, another book.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Martin asks.

“What, the fact that we’re trapped, have no say in anything we do, or the fact that we’re supposed to be somehow useful despite the fact that Elias and Jon _both_ aren’t telling us shit?” Tim shoots back.

“Oh, so that’s why you’re suddenly twice as angry as usual?” Martin responds. “Because nothing’s changed?”

Tim stops walking. He can still feel Gerry’s breath on his skin. Still almost hears his voice, soft but firm saying, _“I just want to know I’m more important than revenge. I don’t think that’s selfish.”_

“The Archives have ruined my love life,” Tim says glumly, slumping down in a chair. He misses when he could talk to Danny about things like this. Not because Danny knew anything Tim didn’t about romance, but because he knew enough about Tim to give advice that none of Tim’s friends ever could. And Martin, who had only known Tim for a few years, definitely wouldn’t know what to say.

“That’s… it?” Martin asks. “I mean, I’m sorry, but--you don’t care about… anything else?”

“Like what?”

“The Unknowing?” Martin says, blinking in surprise. “The thing Jon’s been looking into? With the Circus?”

“The Circus is doing something, and _you didn’t tell me?”_ Tim hisses. “You know the Circus is my thing!”

“Yeah, which is why I thought someone already _told_ you!” Martin replies, raising his hands in protest. “I mean, you asked to help Jon! I figured it would have come up!”

“Well, it didn’t,” Tim says. He’s angry, but he’s not sure if he’s angry at Martin, for telling him, or for the Circus, for interrupting his thoughts.

“I mean, it’s not like you’ve been that easy to get a hold of,” Martin says, slightly kinder. “It’s easier now that you aren’t entering only by the tunnels, of course, but you’re still not _here._ And I get it, I do, but you can’t have it both ways. You wanted us to leave you alone, so we did. That’s all there was to it.”

Tim grits his teeth.

“So this Unknowing,” Tim says. “What have you done about it?”

“Nothing yet, but…,” Martin begins. Tim cuts him off.

“Then this is a waste of time,” he says. Martin glares. “Fine. I’m sorry. I could have been around more, I guess. I was just…”

“I’m not going to blame you for having a life,” Martin says. “I’m glad you’ve got something else. I wish I did. I didn’t expect you to care so much, though.”

“They took my brother,” Tim says.

“Oh,” Martin says. “Shit. Do you--”

“I’m not making a statement,” Tim says. “They skinned him alive. I’ll be seeing him in my nightmares for the rest of my life. Statement fucking ends. Tell me what you know.”

“I just think it might help--,” Martin cuts himself off. “Fine. Just think we should pool our knowledge.”

“You first,” Tim says.

“They’re planning some kind of dance to end the world,” Martin sighs. “Not sure about the details, but I think it’s supposed to make things impossible to understand. Gertrude was looking into it, before she died, but we don’t know what she was planning to do to stop it, but we’re pretty sure she had something. Jon’s been going through statements, looking for clues, but we’ve already exhausted a few leads. He’s probably following up on another now, honestly.”

“Alright,” Tim says. 

“What are you going to do now?” Martin asks. “I mean, you can still fix whatever romance problem you’re having. You don’t have to blow off your problems just to go hunt for clowns.”

“Fuck you,” Tim says. Martin sighs.

“Just try not to get hurt, alright?” he says.

Tim goes through Jon’s things. It’s less weird when Tim does it, Tim reasons, because he’s not looking for proof that Jon’s a murderer. Just looking through his last statements to get some clues. Also, Tim hasn’t stalked Jon yet, so he still has that moral high ground.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing useful. Tim was pretty sure that Jon was reading statements at… wherever he had been staying, but Tim didn’t know where that was, and he’s not about to try to find it.

Tim knows that all he’s doing is proving Gerry right. As soon as he knew the Circus was back, he had dropped everything to ransack Jon’s office to find something to hit.

The thought makes him take a step back. Tim sighs. He wasn’t going to find anything here. Gerry, of course, would probably know what to do, but Gerry would see right through Tim.

It wasn’t that he wanted to die. He couldn’t. If the Circus still had business in this world, then so did Tim. And after that…

He doesn’t want to work at the Archives forever. He’s just not sure what else there is.

“Are you done?” Martin asks. He’s standing in the doorway. He looks tired.

“Yeah,” Tim says. He waits for Martin to tell him off, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Martin just sighs.

“I should probably read another statement,” he says. “Elias normally brings some by, but I guess he’s taking a break.”

“Or you could just leave,” Tim offers. “I do it all the time.”

“Weren’t you the one just yelling at me for not telling him about the apocalypse?” Martin laughs. “Don’t you think it deserves a bit more urgency than that?”

“It’s either that, or look at books about clowns all day,” Tim says.

Martin snorts.

“I can’t,” he says. “You’ve checked them all out, remember?”

“There’s definitely one still in the library,” Tim insists. “I turned it in weeks ago.”

Martin raises an eyebrow. Yeah, that was fair. One book wasn’t anything.

“I don’t think there’s really anything useful in them,” Tim says. “I mean, sure I’m learning a lot about how they manifest and whatever, but nothing about how to kill them. They come with music, most of the time, but stopping that doesn’t always do anything. Normally it’s more of a symptom than a cause.”

Martin nods, impressed, but Tim’s not the one he should be impressed with.

“Would it be okay if I looked through them, though?” he asks. “Just in case?”

“Sure,” Tim says. “They’re in my desk. Go wild.”

He misses Gerry. 

It’s been, what? An hour since he left Gerry’s flat? He’s not sure why he returned to the Archives, other than force of habit, or a desire not to think about his own problems. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Tim used to take a lot of pride in the fact that he’d never let an argument go unsettled. Tim knows what he’s like, after all. He knows how easy it is to give into anger and spite. He doesn’t want to ruin his own life just because his brain had decided that everyone he knew hated him and the only reasonable thing to do was hate back. It was a strange tightrope Tim walked. He always did his best to make sure people loved him, until--

He used to be really good at keeping his brain in check, actually. But then Danny--And then Sasha--

Tim didn’t like having people angry at him, but sometimes, when they were, he had to make it worse. And it’s easier, sometimes, when you don’t have anyone left to disappoint. No one Tim knew in publishing has ever reached out to him. All his friends from Research had started avoiding him weeks ago. Most of the Institute was, honestly. Even the rest of the archival assistants have been giving him space. 

It was easy for Tim to look at that and go, “ _See? You were always going to leave me, so why should I be the one who has to beg to come back?”_

It was their fault, after all, for not being able to handle his worst days. Their fault, for letting him use the tunnels to avoid them all. Their fault for watching Tim light himself on fire and shrinking from the flames. Their fault for not noticing that what that meant was Tim was burning, too. He was not a man of wax. This was not his natural state. The fires would always hurt, even if he couldn’t stop setting them. He was waiting for someone to notice that despite it all, he was still begging for water. And Gerry had noticed.

But Tim left Gerry’s flat without even giving a promise to return.

Tim should go back. Does he even want this anymore, if Gerry's not there? Tim hadn’t thought he cared about that. After all, in the end, the results would be the same. Maybe Tim would be less efficient without Gerry, but Tim fighting a monster still meant one less monster, even if Gerry was right, and there wasn’t much to actually _fight._ The thing is, without Gerry, there’d be no after. No one to clean his wounds and call him an idiot. There’d be no lunches to escape to, no lights in the darkness. All he’d have would be the Archives, with all of its terrible secrets and the room where he had once, a lifetime ago, been engulfed in worms, no company other than a voice, crying out in harmony with his own.

Tim looks down at his phone. He can’t put all that in a text. He could barely figure out how to describe it in his own _head._ What was he supposed to say? Tim hated himself a little less with Gerry around, but you couldn’t put out a forest fire with only a single bucket of water. Tim couldn’t promise anything, and he didn’t want to make excuses for himself, either. Gerry deserved better than that. Deserved better than him.

Tim sighs.

Maybe he’ll make a statement, after all. 

It’d be a nice change of pace to actually talk about his problems.

  
  


The thing about Tim is, he had been trying to be normal for a very long time.

It’s not something that should come as a surprise, really. Before the Magnus Institute, he’d worked in publishing, and all the excitement there had come from preparing for book tours, or press releases, and calming down authors when the fear of a book failing got too much. And before that, he had helped Danny. He’d been the one who made sure they finished their homework, and made sure they went to school on time. He’d been the one to find a way to plan around their parents’ explosive anger, had been the one who made their school lunches, had done whatever else he needed to make sure that one of them, at least, could be better.

Tim liked helping people. It was the only normal thing he knew how to do. 

But normal, of course, wasn’t for Danny. Fair enough. Tim couldn’t fault him for not trusting structure.

Danny had never seen a reason to settle down. Didn’t have Tim’s desire to find a place where he could finally feel safe. All Danny wanted was to be free. Wanted to allow himself the chance to indulge in all the hobbies their parents had sneered at, to have the chance to be good at something without worrying if it’d be taken away. Danny switched interests quickly, yeah, but he had always ended them on his terms.

And even in the end, Danny had made a choice. He had left the Circus once, and then he left Tim. Why had it been so important that Danny go back? He must have known his friend was dead. He must have known he’d be next. But he still went.

Tim’s been thinking about that a lot, lately. Mainly, he thinks about his own freedom, and how easily he had signed it away.

The sad thing is, he doesn’t know what he’d be doing if he wasn’t working for the Magnus Institute. What else is there? Danny is gone, and Sasha is, too, which means his entire world has gone up in flames. How is he supposed to find himself amidst the ashes of everything he’s ever loved? How can he love again when he knows that the matches that destroyed everything are still alight and ready to burn?

And he keeps having these _dreams_. Tim knows they’re not supernatural, because nothing can be that weird on purpose, but trauma dreams aren’t any more fun than spooky ones.

It’s a simple dream, too. Simple enough that Tim hates how much it gets to him.

In the dream, Tim and Sasha sit on a kayak, floating in the middle of a lake. It’s a beautiful day. Neither of them are using the oars, and Sasha’s surrounded by frogs. No surprise, since she keeps talking about _ranas_ , the Spanish word for the animal. She leans over to cup his face and rubs it tenderly.

 _“Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana,”_ Sasha says. She’s smiling. It’s a hopeful, eager smile. She wants the dream Tim to tell her how much better he feels, now that she’s there, and it’s more than he can take.

“But there is no tomorrow, Sash,” Tim in the dream says. Suddenly, he starts crying, tears as thick and loud as a waterfall. “This is all there is. Tomorrow’s not going to come.”

And then Tim wakes up with his cheeks still wet with tears and goes to impulse-buy more sharp objects online. 

It doesn’t make him feel any safer. 

The weird thing was, Sasha didn’t actually speak Spanish that often. Tim knows what she’s saying in the dream, of course, even though his own Spanish is barely conversational. And he knew _those_ words by heart. He had first heard the words from his own parents, but he remembers it more fondly as something she used to say every time he got a papercut. If you don’t feel better today, tomorrow will still come. The frog recovers from losing its tail, and so will you. It had been one of the few things of them he was proud to own. 

Still, it had always sounded better in Sasha’s mouth. When she said it, it stopped being a thing his mum had said to make him stop crying. When she said it, it became real. 

And it was, Sasha would tell Tim, a teasing glint in her eye, much more effective than kissing it better.

The thing that replaced her never said anything like that, but he still had some of the texts the _real_ Sasha had sent to know that it had happened. He’s a little surprised the texts didn’t change with her, but he thing that had taken her was technologically incompetent. And it had hurt more, knowing he had proof. Proof that they really were friends, that she really had cared, and that something--and it _had_ to be something he had done, because honestly, when wasn’t it?--something had changed all that.

He used to stay up scrolling through all their old conversations, rereading all their jokes, trying to find even a hint of an explanation for Sasha’s sudden change in personality. But he couldn’t find anything. They were all just completely normal texts.

Just her sending a frog emoji when he jokingly complained about her hurting his feelings, or her musing if she should keep a running tally of how many times Jon had, very seriously asked her to “hack into a mainframe, or whatever.” A suggestion that they have a sleepover in the Archives, for Martin’s sake, because spending all his time there must _suck._

The only explanation was that she had simply gotten tired of him. He wished he could be happy that wasn't true.

A week after Martin tells Tim about the Unknowing, Jon walks into the Archives, limping, cradling one arm and wincing with each step. Martin stands up immediately and rushes to Jon, but holds his hands out in front of him when Jon’s expression makes it clear that he doesn’t want to be touched. 

“It’s alright,” Jon says, voice unsteady. He smiles, clearly trying to soothe their worries, and failing miserably. “I apologize for not coming into work, but I was a bit… tied up.”

“Tied up with _what?”_ Martin asks.

“I was kidnapped,” Jon replies. “By the Circus, of course. They, uh. Moisturized me quite a bit. I don’t know if you can tell?”

“You were kidnapped,” Martin repeats. “Jon, I’m so sorry. I thought it was a little weird that you hadn’t shown up, but it’s not like any of this has been normal lately, and--”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jon interrupts. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. I don’t blame you.”

Martin bites his lip. Jon pats him on the arm awkwardly, then winces from the pain. He turns to Tim.

“There’s someone waiting for you outside,” Jon says. “He, uh, was actually the one to come get me. Him and… Michael.”

Tim takes off. He pauses, then turns around back to Jon.

“Thanks,” Tim tells him. “And… I’m sorry you had to go through that. We should have looked.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Jon says again.

“Maybe,” Tim says. He definitely hadn’t known Jon had been gone all week. Tim hadn’t been in the Archives either--he’d been too focused on finding where the ritual would take place. But that just made it worse. If Tim had found the Circus, he’d of found Jon. But he hadn’t. He’d been useless all week. 

Tim runs back out the door and through the steps to the main level of the Institute. He’s not surprised to see Gerry waiting across the street, leaning on a building. Beside him stands Michael. The creature looks amused in a way that suggests it’s at least half the reason Jon had been so shaky when Tim had seen him. Michael gives Tim a wave. Tim ignores it. He turns to Gerry instead.

“Thanks for coming,” he says. “I had no idea…”

“I didn’t realize Gertrude never stopped the Unknowing,” Gerry says, cutting him off. “If I looked into that, your Archivist would have never been kidnapped in the first place.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Tim says immediately. “That’s on her. I mean, would it have killed Gertrude to have left a note or something? She was the one getting paid to stop the world from ending. You’d think she’d be more careful.”

Gerry smiles at that.

“Oscar Bailey’s not selling antiques anymore,” Gerry says. It’s not even tangentially related, and Gerry doesn’t try to pretend it is. “I tracked him down. That ship we found really was his, and he didn’t want a repeat of what his crew went through. So he quit.”

“Just like that?” Tim asks.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Gerry replies. “No one ever really wants to get hurt.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Michael breaks it with a mallet and a sigh.

“I must admit, I was expecting a warmer welcome,” Michael says. “Is this all your affection for each other is worth?”

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Gerry says.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says.

“Don’t be,” Gerry replies. “You haven’t done anything I didn’t expect you to.”

“I’m sorry you expected me to let you down, then,” Tim says. “I’m sorry you were right.”

“I’m always right,” Gerry says.

“Well, now I’m _really_ sorry,” Tim says. “Because that sounds awful.”

Gerry shrugs.

“I guess we should go inside,” he says. He doesn’t sound happy about it. “Your Archivist is probably wondering how to fix all this.”

“Does that mean you know how to stop the Circus?” Tim asks.

“I know how to stop the Unknowing,” Gerry corrects. “Or, I know where Gertrude kept whatever she was going to use to off them all.”

“That does sound like pretty important stuff,” Tim says.

Gerry doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to,” Tim adds. “To the Institute. If I was you, I wouldn’t even want to be _this_ close. It doesn’t have to be your problem.”

“You need my help, though,” Gerry says.

“Of course we do,” Tim agrees. “None of us know what the hell we’re doing. But if you want, I can go and get Jon and we can all grab a bite to eat at the cafe down the block.”

“I don’t believe the Archivist is in the mood for walking,” Michael notes.

“Probably not,” Tim agrees. “But we’ll figure something out.”

Gerry thinks for a moment.

“Part of me thinks if I help you with this, it’ll never end,” he admits. “As if stopping the Unknowing means I’ve agreed to spend the rest of my life fixing whatever messes Gertrude left. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Tim says. He takes a step forward, just to be closer to Gerry. “Every day I go in to work, I tell everyone I see to quit. Because I _get it._ Nothing good can come out of a place that traps you like that, no matter what else they promise. Doesn’t matter if you’re working in Research, Finances, or the Archives. We’re all still part of what keeps this shitty place alive. So I’m going to tell you the same thing I tell everyone: Every day you come in to work is another day you work in a place where it takes over a year to find your coworker’s dead body. Smart thing to do is get out before the next body they find is _yours._ You don’t owe this place anything but a two week’s notice.”

“That actually does make me feel a bit better,” Gerry admits. He fiddles with his gloves, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Well. Gertrude had a storage unit, up near Hainault. Anything she had to stop the Unknowing, it’d be in there. I’m sure the key’s around here somewhere, but you don’t have to worry just yet. The only way to stop the Unknowing is when it’s actually happening, so you’ve probably got some time.”

“When’s it starting?” Tim asks.

“Don’t know,” Gerry says. “But they need a specific kind of skin to start it and as far as I know, Gertrude’s the last one to have it. It was some kind of gorilla skin, if I remember right.”

“They wanted to use the Archivist’s skin,” Michael reminds Gerry.

“Right,” Gerry says. “Maybe, uh, keep an eye on your boss for a while. But that’s more or less all I know about that.”

“Alright,” Tim says. “Thanks. I’ll go tell the others, then.”

Gerry nods. Tim doesn’t move.

“Can we get lunch?” Tim asks. “Not to talk about the Unknowing or anything, but we can, if you want. I just… I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything.”

“It’s only been a week,” Gerry says. “I figured you just needed some time.”

“Maybe I did,” Tim admits. “But not that much. I wanted to talk to you. But I didn’t. All because I was too…”

Tim trails off, frustrated.

“We can get lunch,” Gerry says, a bit kinder. “See you around noon?”

“See you then,” Tim echoes. Gerry gives him a small wave, and Tim heads back inside.

When Tim comes back, Jon’s finishing up reading a statement. Elias had given it to him, apparently, to help him find Gertrude and Gerry’s last known location. When he comes out of his office, Jon’s wearing a different outfit. It looks like the kind of formal he had worn when he’d first gotten his promotion, only with a few more layers. Tim tries not to think about how tightly Jon’s been curling into himself lately. Tries not to think about how much worse it’ll be, after being manhandled by the Circus for two weeks.

“How’d you know they were traveling together?” Tim asks.

“I just did,” Jon says. He sounds tired. He sets the statement down on the table next to Tim and Martin. Melanie and Basira both look up from where they’re seated at the other end of the table.

“This is in French,” Tim notes. “You don’t speak French.”

“That’s weird as hell,” Melanie says.

“I _know,”_ Jon sighs. He looks better than he had when he first came in, but he’s just as stressed. Tim had been sure Jon had been holding himself so awkwardly because he had dislocated something, but he already had his arms down at his side. Tim should be glad that whatever the Institute had done to Jon, it had at least given him the power to heal, because Jon _really_ deserved that, but…

“Wait,” Tim says. “We’re looking for Gerry? Why?”

“We’re not looking for Gerard,” Jon says, frowning. “He’s dead. I’m just tracking his last movements. Hopefully, that will lead us to a clue.”

Tim opens his mouth, then quickly thinks better of it. If Elias and Jon both thought Gerry was dead, Tim certainly wasn’t going to correct them in the Institute of all places.

“You know the guy who saved you?” Tim says instead. “He thinks there might be a key to an old storage unit of Gertrude’s here. Thinks it might have something that’ll help.”

“Did he work with Gertrude?” Jon asks. “Or was that something Michael knew and imparted to him?”

“Definitely one of those things,” Tim says. “You didn’t get a good look at him, did you?”

“Being so close to Michael made it hard to see,” Jon admits. He frowns. “Well, that, and Michael’s attempt on my life was rather distracting. He helped get my arm back into place, which was rather kind. Told me he, ah, understood the struggle. He had an, um… a very nice voice. That’s really all I can recall.”

“I’ll pass that along,” Tim says. Jon sputters, insisting that if Tim did that, Jon would sound like a weirdo and he refuses to give that kind of first impression. Tim cuts him off. “So. The key?”

“Right, of course,” Jon says. “It was hidden under the floorboards of my office. We can head over there as soon as we find out where ‘there’ is.”

“Maybe you should rest first,” Martin puts in hesitantly. “I mean… you’ve clearly had a long day.”

“The end of the world won’t wait for me to _take a nap_ ,” Jon mutters.

“Actually, he said it might not happen for a couple of months,” Tim adds, mainly to annoy Jon. “They need some skin to start the whole thing, and they don’t have it yet.”

“Or,” Melanie says. “You can text your guy, ask him for directions, and _we_ can go while Jon takes a nap.”

“I’m not letting you go without me!” Jon insists. “We can go now, and I’ll just rest later. I already feel much better. I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Basira says. “But if we’re going, I should go find Daisy. Elias hired her to deal with threats, right? I reckon this counts.”

Melanie groans.

“I guess it’s not like I’m _busy_ or anything,” she admits. She scowls at Jon, as if this is all his fault, for getting kidnapped and not being prepared to raid a storage locker just a few minutes after. It felt a bit mean, even for her. “So. Whenever you’re all ready.”

“Right,” Jon says, squirming under her gaze. “I suppose I’ll go lay down then.”

“The cot’s no place to sleep,” Martin says. “I mean, it’s _fine,_ don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you let me use it, before, but after everything that’s happened… don’t you think you deserve a real bed?”

“I don’t have a real bed,” Jon reminds him. Martin’s face falls.

“Either invite him over, or make him go to mine,” Tim says. He doesn’t want to see them fumble around the topic for the next half hour. “I’ve got a spare mattress, anyways. Won’t matter to me.”

“I couldn’t invade either of your homes,” Jon protests. “After everything…”

“Not everything has to be complicated,” Tim says. “I’m going to feel really sorry for you if you’ve got to sleep in the Archives. And I don’t want to feel sorry for you.”

“I’d rather not be alone,” Jon says. Tim knows, because this is Jon, that this is supposed to come out indignant. Like, how dare you, Timothy Stoker, think it’s a good idea to leave him alone _now?_ Mostly, though, it sounds sad, and more than a little desperate.

“Doesn’t look like Martin’s doing anything,” Tim says. “Which is great. Because now, he can walk you back to his place and you can _get some sleep.”_

“I’ll just get my coat?” Martin offers. Jon fiddles with his jacket sleeve.

“I suppose…,” he begins. “Yes, uh. I would appreciate that quite a lot.”

When they leave, Melanie congratulates him on getting their two most annoying coworkers out of the building. He doesn’t tell her that wasn’t the plan.

It wasn’t like he did it as an act of kindness or anything. Tim just knew how hard it was to suffer alone.

“So how is it,” Tim asks, as soon as he sits down with Gerry. “That Elias and Jon have some weird all-seeing power but they’ve got no idea that you, with your million eyes, are still alive?”

“Can’t see an observatory through its own telescope,” Gerry says, somewhat smug. He takes a bite of his sandwich.

“You’re bullshitting me,” Tim says.

“I am,” Gerry agrees. “But my eyes are my own. I don’t think Elias should be able to see through them. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know, of course. You sure he hasn’t been giving any weird cryptic hints about me being alive?”

“Considering that Jon seemed super convinced of your death after talking to him, I’m going to say no,” Tim says.

“Interesting,” Gerry says. “Well, Elias has always had a harder time seeing anything that’s not related to his Institute. And I have been talking to Michael a lot, lately.”

“But you’ve also been hanging with me for like, a month,” Tim says. “If he knows what I’m doing, then he’s got to know _you.”_

Gerry looks like he’s about to make a joke of Tim’s wording, but decides against it. Pity. Tim really did want to do him.

“I mean, for Elias to know I’m not dead, he’s got to, you know, actually care enough to look,” Gerry says. “If he just thinks you’re skipping work because you hate him, then there’s no reason for him to go look and see if you’re actually helping me.”

“So he’s not all-knowing,” Tim says. 

“I think he is. He just gets distracted,” Gerry says. “That’s probably an important distinction.”

“Means we could probably plan something, though,” Tim replies. “Melanie’s death threats aren’t really working, but maybe if we came up with something new…”

Tim trails off.

“I’m the only one at the Archives who knows you’re alive,” Tim says suddenly. “Jon couldn’t get a good look at you when Michael picked him up. Which means even if he goes looking for you, he’s probably not going to find you. So how much you want to get involved is up to you. I know you like making everything your business, but this really doesn’t have to be.”

Gerry frowns into his drink.

“I don’t want the world to end,” he says.

“It won’t,” Tim says firmly. “Because I’m going to stop it. Which means you don’t have to.”

“Because they killed your brother,” Gerry says.

“I can have more than one reason,” Tim protests. “I mean, come on. Aren’t you tired of being the one to fix everything? You deserve a holiday. You deserve a lot more than that, honestly, but a holiday’s a good start.”

“I’ve barely done anything,” Gerry argues. “I mean, yeah, I’ve helped people, sure, but Gertrude stopped at least five rituals before she croaked. I haven’t even stopped one.”

“There’s more than one?” Tim asks. He kicks himself for not considering that earlier. _Of course_ there was more than one. What did clowns have to do with any of the other shit he knew was out there? Why would the Circus, of all things, be the one to actually end everything?

“They don’t stop,” Gerry says. “I mean, after one ritual’s failed, it takes them a while to build themselves back up enough to make another, but that takes a while. A lifetime, for some. But they’re building up power again. They’re supposed to all be happening quite close together, I think. Watcher’s Crown should be next. Gertrude told me she had a plan for that.”

“I’d _love_ to stop that one,” Tim says, maybe a bit too eager. “If it’s the Watcher, it’s got to be about the Institute, right? I’ve been looking for an excuse to blow that place up.”

Gerry snorts.

“And what happens after that?” Gerry asks. “There’ll still be more rituals.”

“And you’d stop them?” Tim asks. Gerry considers this.

“Might as well,” he says. “I mean, if no one else does.”

“Then I’ll come too,” Tim decides. “Because you shouldn’t do something that stupid alone.”

“Didn’t think you’d say that,” Gerry says. “What changed?”

“Think the answer to that’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Tim says. 

“Tell me anyways,” Gerry says.

“I want to be with you,” Tim says. He doesn’t know if it’s the easiest or the hardest thing he’s had to say. “I should have said that as soon as you asked me to stay. It’s just… When I’m with you, I feel free. I kind of thought I’d never feel that again, you know? Not just because I can’t quit my job--though that’s a big part of it, mind you--it’s just, I never _asked_ for this. I never wanted my world to get any scarier, but that didn’t stop the clowns from taking my brother. And you, you _get it._ It kind of doesn’t even seem scary when you talk about it. It just seems… I don’t know. Real?”

“Real,” Gerry repeats.

“It’s like hearing an activist talk about climate change,” Tim says, after a moment of thought. He waves his hand slowly, trying to emphasize his point. “Like… I know the ice caps are melting, you know? And that fucking sucks. It sucks that all our oceans are filled with rubbish and that there’s still oil spills, but I mean, we can still recycle. There’s still petitions going around, and places to donate to. Even if we can’t change all the big things, we’re not _helpless.”_

“Kind of sounds like you just have a lot of thoughts about the climate,” Gerry says. He’s smiling at Tim, so Tim smiles back.

“I can care about more than just clowns,” Tim says. “I’ve just… I’ve lost a lot recently, you know? And I don’t want to lose you too. But I just couldn’t imagine this lasting. Like, if I didn’t leave, then you would. So I had to be the one to go first.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Gerry says firmly. “I’m not--I don’t know how to live if I’m not doing something dangerous. But I’m still trying not to get hurt. This is the first chance I’ve had to really live on my own terms, and I want to enjoy it. It’s still scary as hell, but I know I can’t let Absynthe down. And if she’s counting on me, then I’ve _really_ got to live, you know? But I won’t leave. Not you.”

“I want to promise the same,” Tim says. “But working in the Archives…”

“I don’t know how, but you _can_ quit,” Gerry replies. He hesitates. “My dad used to work under Gertrude, but he found a way to leave. Maybe if you look through her stuff, you’ll find it.”

“Your dad didn’t tell you?” Tim asks. He thinks his heart might break out of its chest, it's beating so fast. Holy shit. Was this what hope felt like? It’s been so long, he’s not sure he recognizes it.

“My mum killed him after I was born,” Gerry says. Tim winces, even though Gerry doesn’t sound too upset by this fact. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s whatever. I’m just saying… Gertrude probably had some idea what happened. And now you’re working where she was. There’s got to be a clue somewhere there. Michael might know, too, I guess, but I doubt it’d say.”

“Probably not,” Tim agrees. “But… you’re sure? I could really…”

“I wouldn’t have told you if I was certain it was possible,” Gerry says. “I’ll do what I can to help. Anything. I’ve got your back.”

“I believe you,” Tim says. He’s surprised to find how much he means it. “Okay, yeah. We’ll figure it out. I’ll quit, and then we can go run off together and do whatever the hell we want, whether it’s going kayaking, or stopping the apocalypse.”

Gerry laughs at that.

“I actually don’t want to stop the rituals,” he admits. “I mean, maybe Watcher’s Crown, but honestly, it sounds exhausting.”

Tim laughs.

“It does!” he agrees. “Christ, could you even imagine spending your entire _life_ doing something like that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter, this time around! I could have had this chapter be like, 10k words, but i think that's too long. This might not end up being 5 chapters, but that's the plan for now! But I don't plan things out with section breaks, so don't trust what i say about chapters.  
> also: Tim is Latino mainly because I am. Author can have little a projection, as a treat.  
> Up next: a trip to a storage unit, and jon--finally--has a productive conversation.


	4. Where The Wild Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time to sail away to a land of monsters. Jon goes through Gertrude's storage locker. Tim goes to stalk some clowns. He also goes on a date with Gerry. Everyone's feeling very productive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't find a quote from where the wild things are that fit this chapter, but found one that blew me away, so have that instead:  
> “I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more...What I dread is the isolation. ... There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die, but I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready.”

The next day, they go find Gertrude’s storage unit. It’s more crowded than any of them expected, and filled with boxes. Daisy and Basira stay at the Institute to start a fire in the breakroom or something so Elias doesn’t find out where they’re going, but everyone else goes. Martin finds a bunch of eyeless paintings while Melanie very jovially announces that she’s found a box filled with eyeless dolls.

“Oh, I found a book!” Martin announces. 

“Don’t touch that!” Jon shouts. Martin’s eyes widen.

“ _Ohhh._ Right,” Martin says. He hesitantly puts the book down and takes a step back. Jon holds his arms out, trying to make sure none of them touch it and shoves Tim into Melanie.

“Oh, just pick it up already,” Melanie groans.

Jon frowns at her, but he does, carefully lifting up the cover.

“Oh,” he says, instantly relaxing. “It’s just a notebook. Names, dates, locations… none of which look particularly relevant.”

“Deal with it later, then,” Tim says. They go back to searching.

They find a burnt gorilla skin. It’s probably too torn up to use in the ritual, which means the Circus’ll probably come back for Jon’s skin again. Probably not a great sign.

Nothing he spots seems relevant to his discussion with Gerry, though. Unless the eyes…?

But Tim doesn’t have time to dwell on that because he hears an, “Oh holy shit, _yes,”_ coming from Melanie. Tim turns

“Is that _C4?”_ Jon yelps.

“Not all explosives are C4, Jon,” Melanie replies. Jon huffs. He goes to pick up a letter tucked into the explosive’s case when Tim hears a noise coming from Melanie’s rucksack.

“Melanie,” Tim says suddenly. “What’s in your bag?”

Melanie throws off her bag and unzips it, revealing several tape recorders, all turned on.

“What the _fuck,”_ she says. “I didn’t put these in here.”

“Turn them off,” Tim demands. He doesn’t bother asking before he starts pawing through her bag for more recorders, turning them all off.

“Fucking creepy,” Melanie growls, crouching down to turn them off with him.

“I suppose that means this is a statement,” Jon sighs, waving the letter. Martin opens it for him and hands it back. “A statement from Adelard Dekker, apparently. I wasn’t aware the two knew one another. It doesn’t look like it was ever opened.”

“What’s it about?” Martin asks.

“Nothing related to the Unknowing,” Jon says. “Just, uh, a series of bodies dying in an odd way. I should read it anyways, but I’ll refrain until I’m alone.”

“Good,” Tim says.

“So when do we get to blow something up?” Melanie asks, clearly excited. “Can I be the one to do it?”

“Do you know anything about setting off explosives?” Jon asks. Melanie frowns. “Right. Then we’ll get Daisy to do it.”

“I think maybe we should all be a little less excited about the prospect of explosions,” Martin says.

“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” Melanie tells him. She punches his arm. Martin glares at her. “We’re being hunted down by killer clowns. Let us have our fun.”

“Jon’s really the only one who’s being hunted by clowns,” Martin mutters. Then, louder, he asks, “But if this is all we need to fight the Unknowing, that means we can focus on other things, right? Like maybe what to do with Elias?”

“Can we even talk about that here?” Melanie asks.

“I think Basira and Daisy can buy us a bit more time,” Martin says. “I just wanted to say--We can’t _kill_ him, but that doesn’t mean we can’t force him out. If he’s just fighting us, who knows what he’ll do? But he can’t stop us from just… getting him fired. Or arrested. And I mean, we _do_ have his confession, don’t we?”

Melanie whistles.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” she asks.

“Literally every day,” Martin tells her. “You think I want to keep working for him, after everything he’s done? _G-d no.”_

“We still don’t know _where_ the Unknowing is happening,” Jon reminds him. “So let’s not get too excited about ruining Elias’s life just yet.”

“But I really want to ruin his life,” Melanie groans. “Finding out things is _your_ job.”

“Is that really the best use of your time?” Jon asks.

“It is,” Melanie says. “For sure. I will be so good at ruining Elias’s life, I promise you.”

“Don’t forget to keep trying to kill him,” Tim adds. “He might get suspicious if you stop.”

“Is that really where we are?” Jon asks. He sounds disappointed in them.

“It’s Elias,” Melanie replies, not at all ashamed. “He brings out the worst in me.”

“So…,” Tim says. “What are we going to do with these explosives? Just bring them to the Institute?”

“I suppose one of us will have to get them to Daisy somehow,” Jon says. He very clearly does not want to touch it. Tim can’t blame him.

“I guess we’ll just have to load it up carefully,” Tim says.

“That’s right,” Melanie says. “No sudden movements.”

She jumps at Martin suddenly, making him shout and stumble back, though thankfully not into the explosives. Melanie laughs.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Martin shouts. Melanie’s face falls. Her expression twists, like she’s not sure she knows how to answer that.

“Sorry,” she says. “Not the right time for a joke. I’ll--I’ll deal with the explosives.”

When they get back to the Institute, Jon asks Basira to search for a name Adelard mentioned in his letter. Guy named Justin Gough or something. It’s not relevant, so Tim doesn’t pay too much attention to the details. All he knows is that after they’re done talking, Jon turns to Tim and declares that he has “absolutely no idea what that’s connected to.”

“You never did explain how your paramour knew about Gertrude’s storage unit,” Jon adds, almost conversationally.

“Man’s gotta have his secrets,” Tim replies.

“Of course,” Jon says. Surprisingly, he doesn’t pry. “Just… Thank you. I have no idea how I would have found it without your help. I’m sure _Elias_ would have given me more useless statements and had me piece together what little I could, but… It’s a relief to not have someone still speak plainly. I’m getting very tired of riddles.”

“You and me both,” Tim says. He looks at Jon, then sighs and gestures for him to take a seat. Jon does.

“You sent me to Martin’s house,” Jon says.

“I was just getting tired of the two of you,” Tim says. He’s not that annoyed, but he does his best to sound like he is. “He wants to take care of you. You needed help. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.”

“I see,” Jon says. He looks down at his hands, then back at Tim. “Tim, I want to apologize. I know this is late--fair too late, I know--but you’re… I never wanted to hurt anyone. Especially not you.”

Tim’s not sure what to do with that, or the intensity of Jon’s stare, so he looks away.

“It’s fine,” Tim says. Jon opens his mouth. “Okay, it’s not, but… Let’s wait for all this to blow over before we really hash it out, yeah?”

Jon frowns.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he says.

“You don’t,” Tim agrees. “You’re not getting it. But there’s worse things out there to be mad at than you. And right now, that’s where I’m going to focus my energy.”

“That’s very…,” Jon pauses. “Reasonable of you.”

Tim snorts at that. Yeah. That was him. King of not letting his emotions cloud his judgment.

“I don’t actually want to be angry at you,” Tim admits. “I just don’t know if I can stop. And I _hate_ that. You’re all I have. I mean, with Sasha gone… I want to trust you. I know _you’re_ not getting replaced anytime soon, at least. Whatever happens to anyone else, well… you’re already spoken for. But you’re still the guy who accused me of _murder.”_

Jon’s looking down at his hands again, fiddling with one of his sleeves.

“I needed you,” Tim says. The words tumbling out of his mouth sound far more desperate than he had hoped they would. “I was so scared, Jon. Maybe I didn’t act like it, but I was. And you sure as hell didn’t help. You--you’re my boss. You’re my _friend._ You should have had my back. But I didn’t have you. And that meant I didn’t have anyone.”

“I didn’t realize…,” Jon begins. He sighs. “I always considered you to be… above worry, I suppose. I don’t--I wasn’t thinking about the consequences of my actions, but I never thought that _you_ might need _me.”_

“Who else do I have?” Tim mutters, but he already knows the answer to that. Jon never worried about Tim because Tim never seemed like the kind of person who had trouble asking for help. He was the person people asked for help, after all. Why would _he_ have problems?

But maybe that wasn’t fair to Jon. Tim was only human, after all. He had no idea what Jon saw when he looked at him.

“What’s it like?” Tim asks suddenly. “Having the… The Archivist powers, or whatever Elias wants to call them?”

“I’m starting to remember things I’ve never learned,” Jon says, after a moment’s pause. “But nothing big enough for me to--to realize that I shouldn’t already know. Well, not until recently. It makes it hard to know how to… talk to people, I suppose. Regardless of whether or not you want to acknowledge it, the knowledge will still be with me. And I’m just supposed to _know_ I shouldn’t do anything with it. You, uh, had a teacher once tell you that they lost your test, and wanted to make you retake it. But they never lost it. They just hated that you could bring joy to the classroom. I… you never told me that, correct?”

“Of course not,” Tim says. “What the fuck, Jon.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says. The worst part about it is how genuine he sounds. “I don’t… I don’t _want_ to know this, but at least some of it’s useful. Maybe that doesn’t make up for all of it, but does it at least even it out?”

“Why are you asking _me_?”

“I trust you.” Jon’s answer is immediate. “I-I mean I trust Martin, too, but I’m sure he’d just try and placate me, and I’m not sure I’m on the best terms with Melanie or Daisy, and…”

Jon glances towards Basira.

“I trust your judgment,” is all he says.

“Don’t,” Tim tells him. “I don’t know what counts as _worth it,_ anyways. I mean, if you learn something about the Circus then I want to know it, but that doesn’t mean I’m jumping for the chance to be the next Archivist. You don’t need this, you know? You’re a smart guy, Jon. You shouldn’t need magic powers to figure things out.”

“I’m not so sure you’re right about that,” Jon says.

“I am,” Tim says firmly. “I refuse to believe our only chance to know _anything_ is to become a monster.”

“Well, you certainly don’t seem to have that problem,” Jon says, more than a little bitter. “No one I talk to ever seems willing to answer my questions. I don’t have your kind of luck where I can just… meet a nice man and have him explain the world to me. All I have is… _Archivist powers._ And I barely understand how to use them.”

Jon makes a face. 

“I can ask him if he’ll talk to you,” Tim says. Jon’s eyes go wide. “He might say no. He _really_ doesn’t like the Archives. And he doesn’t want to get involved in our shit. So you have to be cool.”

“I won’t ask anything about the Unknowing,” Jon promises. “I just want to know what I am.”

Turns out, though, it’s actually really easy to convince Gerry to meet Jon. Apparently, Gertrude had been pretty cagey about what being the Archivist really entailed, but as soon as Tim mentioned that Jon wanted to know more about the position, Gerry had sighed and went, “poor fucker probably doesn’t even know what he’s doing” and then promised to meet up, as long as it happened in Tim’s flat, after Gerry had properly warded it against the Eye. Gerry refused to let any Archivist shit bother him at his own home. Tim wishes he could do the same.

Tim had expected Gerry to do something really impressive for the actual warding, but all he did was call Michael up to distort everything that looked like it could have been an eye and mess around with the windows. Tim’s flat now looked like an acid trip, which made Michael very pleased. It refused to go until both Tim and Gerry complemented its hard work, and then brushed aside the compliments, saying it would do anything for a friend, and at least one of them was that. Gerry gave Michael a look that suggested he had heard jokes like this before, and found none of them funny.

Then Michael left and Gerry started going through Tim’s things. Namely, Gerry’s going through his bookshelf.

“You’ve got a lot of kids books,” Gerry notes, pulling out a chapter book.

“Well, I did publish them for a living,” Tim says. He takes the book out of Gerry’s hand before Gerry has a chance to read inside the cover. It’s nothing _bad,_ it’s just a note from the author, thanking Tim for helping her spend so much time helping her get her dream novel out there. She had seen so few childrens’ books with Malaysian protagonists, and Tim had helped her publish one. He was proud of that. It just felt… weird. To reminisce. “Most of these are marketing copies, anyways. I planned on giving some of them away, but never got around to it. So now they’re just mine, I guess.”

That didn’t mean he hadn’t bought any of his books, of course. Some of the stuff on his bookshelf, he had bought just to check out the competition, or because he knew the author. One or two, he’d just gotten for nostalgia. Like the Velveteen Rabbit. It had been his favorite book as a little kid, though he feels kind of silly admitting that now. He’d read it to Danny a lot, though, when their parents fought and it had never stopped making him feel better. Tim had always wanted to believe in magic like that. No matter how worn or tired you got, you’d be okay, just as long as you had a little love.

Gerry’s looking at the books a little weirdly.

“You can look at them, if you want,” Tim says. “I don’t know why I’m being so weird about this. I really loved publishing, actually. It just feels so long ago. And so small. It’s hard to feel like any of it mattered.”

“I’m sure it did,” Gerry says. Tim blinks at the certainty in Gerry’s voice. Gerry adjusts his jacket and clears his throat. “Thought I’d see some romance novels or something, honestly. Wanted to make fun of your taste in books.”

“Oh, that’s on a whole different bookshelf,” Tim laughs. “Whatever you’re going to say about my taste in books, you’re probably right. I won’t pretend I read things because they’re winning prizes.”

“Even though you worked in publishing?” Gerry asks, raising an eyebrow.

“ _Especially_ because,” Tim corrects. “I refuse to bring my work home with me.”

Gerry looks back to the bookshelf, then to Tim, eyebrow raised even higher. Tim just smiles. It wasn’t that Tim didn’t read good books. He just read so much for work that if he was going to do it on his own, he wanted to have _fun,_ and sometimes, trashy romance novels were a lot of fun.

There’s a knock on the door. Jon.

Tim goes to open it, and Jon squints when he sees the state of his flat.

“We had to make sure your spooky eye powers wouldn’t work here,” Tim says.

“Ah,” Jon replies, voice flat and dry. “Of course.”

“So this is Jon, then?” Gerry asks. He’s still looking through Tim’s books, but moves over to the couch once Jon comes into view. Jon almost drops his cane in surprise when he sees Gerry.

“You’re Gerard Keay!” he says, somewhat accusingly. Jon looks at Tim. Tim wonders if he’s remembering that he called Gerry’s voice hot. “You didn’t tell me I was meeting _Gerard Keay!”_

“Because he didn’t want Elias to know,” Gerry says. “I’ve managed to avoid the Archives for this long. I’m not coming back now.”

“You’re--but the Unknowing!” Jon protests. “The Circus could end the _world!_ Isn’t that worth getting involved in?”

“World’s always ending,” Gerry says. 

“But think of all the _information--,”_ Jon begins. Tim cuts him off with a warning look.

“Jon,” Tim says. Jon bites his lip.

“Of course,” he says. “I’m sorry. Thank you for your information about Gertrude, it was--we wouldn’t have found it without you, I’m sure. You wouldn’t happen to know anything else…?”

“Gertrude wasn’t really the talkative sort,” Gerry says. “But I know the Unknowing could only be stopped once it actually starts. Too much of the ritual could be changed. Even the Dancer--the skin, though they’re more particular about that. Once it starts though, it makes them vulnerable.”

“And that’s what the C4 is for,” Tim says. Gerry laughs.

“So that’s what she was hiding,” he says. “Sounds like her.”

“Right. That clears a lot up,” Jon takes a seat and fiddles with the grip of his cane. He’d been using it a lot lately, but Tim knew how it made his wrist ache. And his shoulder. And sometimes his arm. Were his legs hurting that much? “Did she… er, she never showed any… abilities, or talked about… I don’t know, _destiny?_ Like she was… b-becoming something?”

“Hmm…,” Gerry says thoughtfully. “Well, she could make people tell her stuff, sometimes. They’d suddenly get real talkative, and lay out whatever she needed. She didn’t do it often, though. I don’t think she liked it.”

“I can do that, too,” Jon says. He sounds excited, but wilts once he catches a glimpse of Tim.

“You like it?” Gerry asks, voice free of judgment.

“I don’t know,” Jon says, still looking at Tim in the corner of his eye. “I… Maybe.”

Gerry just nods.

“Did she read statements?” Jon asks.

“Sometimes. If she was getting shaky,” Gerry says. “They perked her up, I think. Feeding the Eye, you know? I’d sometimes hear her through the wall, just reading into the air, feeling it all.”

“That does explain why I felt so poorly at the Circus,” Jon mumbles. Tim can’t believe this.

“Jon, you were being _kidnapped,”_ Tim says. “Of course you felt like shit.”

“It was a different kind of bad,” Jon insists. He frowns. “I’m sorry. She just read them? No tape recorders?”

“Not that I saw,” Gerry replies. “She traveled light. Left things behind.”

Tim winces, sure that Gerry’s including himself in that.

“It, uh, kind of sounds like you didn’t trust her,” Jon says carefully.

“I used to really want to,” Gerry says. “But she was always about the work. Kind of reminded me of my mum, honestly. At least Gertrude did something worthwhile.”

“Would you… like to make a statement?” Jon offers. Gerry shakes his head.

“I think your Archives has enough of me as it is,” he says.

“Of course,” Jon says. “And what was it Gertrude actually did? As an Archivist?”

“The same as you, I guess,” Gerry says. “Stop the rituals.”

“There’s more than _one?”_ Jon says. He rubs his temples. Gerry shoots Tim a look.

“Couldn’t have told him anything before you came to me?” he asks. His tone is mostly teasing, so Tim responds with a grin.

“You’re just better at this than me,” Tim says. “You’ve got a way with words, babe.”

Gerry snorts. Jon looks at the two of them like they’re crazy.

“Could have at least explained about the Fourteen,” Gerry says.

“The what?”

“‘Robert Smirke divided the beings into fourteen distinct Powers, each comprising a variety of smaller terrors, some direct and practical, and some more abstract,’” Gerry recites. He looks at Tim. “Feel like helping?”

“We’ve got Smirke’s whole bibliography in the Library,” Tim says. “Not my fault Jon never bothered to look.”

Gerry just raises an eyebrow, amused.

“Okay, well, obviously, we work for the Eye,” Tim says. “Fear of knowing, fear of someone watching, all that fun creepy voyeur stuff. Like you.”

Jon doesn’t protest, so Tim continues on. He explains the Buried. The Vast, the Lonely… all of them. Jon doesn’t say anything. He just keeps nodding.

“But why _fourteen?”_ Jon asks, when Tim’s finished. “Wait, no. The rituals. That’s more important.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” Gerry tells him. “You can come back. This is--well, it’s not _basic_ stuff, but it’s important. I don’t really mind talking about it, so long as you don’t try and drag me along.”

Jon’s mouth hangs open.

“Right,” he says eventually. “I suppose I’m just not used to someone being so… _open_ about all of this. I’m still… expecting some sort of catch.”

“The catch is, I don’t want to be involved,” Gerry says. “I’m here because I want to make sure you don’t get yourself killed with your own ignorance, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go along with whatever fun adventure you’ve got planned.”

“That’s more than fair,” Jon agrees.

Jon asks a few more questions after that. Tim doesn’t pay too much attention to it. Rituals change reality to make the world in their image and freak everyone else in the process. Why would anyone start a ritual, then? Good question. Some people were just freaks. Mostly, they did it to feed. It was probably hard for them to believe it now that they were in the midst of all of it, but the entities really only took the ones who got too close to the edge. If anything managed to pull off a ritual, then the whole world turns into a buffet.

“Christ,” Jon says. “Well, nothing like a good helping of pressure to get the job done.”

Gerry snorts.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Haven’t really got a choice, do I,” Jon grumbles.

“You do,” Gerry says. “You’re choosing to save the world.”

Jon brightens at that. The way Gerry says it makes it seem so cinematic, as if their journey so far hadn't mostly just been Jon reading statements and wandering into places.

“Thank you for your help, Gerard,” Jon tells him. Gerry hums in acknowledgment.

“You can call me Gerry,” he says.

“Gerry,” Jon repeats, eyes bright and hopeful. “It’s been lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Gerry says with a smile. “Try not to get into too much trouble, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jon says. He looks happier than Tim’s seen him in weeks.

Jon thanks Gerry a few more times, and then leaves. When he does, Tim turns to Gerry.

“So,” Tim says. “I was thinking of staking out this wax museum in Greater Yarmouth.”

“Sounds like fun,” Gerry tells him.

They’ve been staking out the House of Wax for about a week when Tim sees a door. He sighs. “Michael, I’m not really in the mood,” Tim says. He’s a little surprised at how used to this he is now. He had never thought he’d get over his time in those hallways, but here he was, talking to the creature that trapped him like it was some kind of spoiled pet.

But the thing that opens the door isn’t Michael. It’s a woman. She’s dressed professionally, but Tim can’t tell if she’s wearing a pantsuit, a dress, or a skirt. Definitely one or the other. Her wardrobe fluctuates, but the style doesn’t. Whoever she is, she looks like she’s about to sell him something. Tim thinks he smells perfume, but it smells more like a concept than a scent.

“I remember you,” Tim says. “You were in the hallways.”

“You may call me Helen,” the woman says, holding out a hand for Tim to shake. Tim doesn’t take it.

“What did Michael do to you?” Tim asks. Helen laughs.

“You already know the answer to that, don’t you?” Helen says. “No, I think the more interesting question is what did _I_ do to _it.”_

“And what _did_ you do?” Tim asks. The fear of the corridors is starting to return. Michael may have not wanted to hurt Tim, but Helen was a different beast.

“I ate it,” Helen says. She grins, and it’s far too large for her body. “It tossed me in its stomach and I crawled my way out, scraping the insides of its belly with my fingernails and climbing to freedom. And then I was eaten again, so instead of crawling out, I made myself comfortable, using all of its sharp points and terrible teeth to make myself whole. It took time, of course, but I was in no rush. And eventually, there was a synthesis.”

“I’m not sure I get what you’re saying,” Tim tells her. “And why--why come here? Is this a warning? A threat?”

“I think I’m asking you for a favor,” Helen says. Tim feels himself relax. If she wanted something from him, she probably needed him alive. “I already spoke to Jon, because he knew Helen. He was not happy to see me. Gerry doesn’t seem to be, either, but…”

“Oh,” Tim says. This was about Gerry. Of course.

“Take care of him for me, will you?” Helen asks and for a second, she looks human. “Without us, he’ll be alone. He deserves better than that.”

“Of course,” Tim says, with as much force as he can muster. He wants Helen to know that even if she leaves, he won’t. He _couldn’t._ It was easy for him to cut people off, but he wants to promise that things will be different with Gerry. He wants Helen to believe that it could be. Not because he thinks Helen is so important, but because he wanted _someone_ to hear it and just _know_ he was serious.

Helen seems a bit less cryptic than Michael, though, so Tim adds, “When I first started talking to Gerry, Michael said he made a promise about something. To the assistants, or whatever. You know what he was talking about?”

“Michael Shelley promised to do his best to make the Archives a safe place to work,” Helen says. “He failed, of course, but the desire remained. It certainly didn’t help that all the Distortion wanted was for you all to suffer.”

“I thought you were the same thing,” Tim says.

“We are,” Helen says. “That’s why it was so confusing for him. Michael was very intent on being seen as a monster. Just a door with a body attached to it. But I am more than the sum of what ate me, or what has been digested by me. I am a monster. My name is Helen. I think I am becoming what I am meant to be.”

“So you’re… happy?” Tim asks. “You like this?”

“I certainly like it a lot more than being dead!” Helen laughs. The sound echoes in Tim’s brain.

“Guess that’s fair,” Tim says. He rubs his temples.

“I will miss being human, I suppose,” Helen admits with a sigh. She’s shorter than him now. Was she shrinking? It was hard to tell. “Helen has friends who will miss her. I think I’ll miss them. I think I’ll miss Gerard as well.”

“Thought you said you weren’t Michael.”

“I am Michael’s rotting corpse,” Helen says. “I’m sure you can understand why I might want to keep my distance from its only friend.”

“Yeah,” Tim’s not sure what else to say. “Why did you start hanging out with him, anyhow? I mean, Michael showed up at the Archives a few times, but he never really hung around.”

Helen hums. It feels like being stung by a bee.

“I think Michael was lonely,” Helen says. “The Distortion had never been lonely before, so we didn’t know how to handle it, but… But we remembered Eric. Emma, too, of course, but she had a different path. Eric was not happy in the Archives, but he was proud of his life. Of his child. And then one day, he was dead. Michael Shelley hadn’t realized how close he’d grown with his fellow assistants until he heard the news. But he didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he could do. They were close, but not so close that Michael would know where to find his child, or even to know how much Mary would make him suffer. But now….”

Helen frowns and stretches back out to the height of her door.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t think I’m telling this story right. Michael and I could both agree on one thing, though, and that’s none of you deserve to suffer because of the Archives. It’s hard to care about things now. But I think I care about that. And Gerard didn’t deserve to suffer, either. So we helped him. I don’t know if it needs to be more complicated than that. I find that now, the more I try and look for a reason for my actions, the less clear they become. It was a decision made from the heart. Maybe Michael’s, maybe Shelley’s. Maybe even The Distortion itself. But there was some love in the action. I think that’s all that matters.”

“I think he’d want to hear that,” Tim says. Helen shakes her head, but her eyes stay in place, staring at Tim.

“Not from me, certainly,” she says. “But tell him… Tell him he’ll never have to fear our hallways. His mind has already been cracked open. There’s not much I could do, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t! I do hope he believes that. And of course, I’ll still pop by to feed Absynthe.”

“Wait, is it really that simple?” Tim asks. “He gets brain surgery and he’s just… free of you, forever? That’s how it works?”

Helen doesn’t answer.

“There have been many monsters in his life, you know,” she says. “Many evil women. I don’t want to be one of them. Take care of him, Tim.”

And then she’s gone, though through what door, Tim couldn’t say.

Gerry says they still have to stake out the museum. They know it’s a Stranger stronghold, despite how empty the place looks, because Gerry can see things like that, apparently. And it’s important, Gerry reminds him, to figure out what they’re using it for. They’ll need a stage for their ritual, and they still need their Dancer. There has to be some movement, sooner or later. A delivery, at least.

He doesn’t want to talk about Michael.

“I just want you to know,” Tim says carefully. “We don’t have to do this right now.”

“The fate of the world, Tim,” Gerry says, and his voice sounds oddly flat.

“World’s not ending today, though,” Tim says. “You don’t have to talk about it, but…”

“Michael was the first person who cared without anger,” Gerry interrupts. “And now it’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim says.

“It saved my life,” Gerry says. “And I didn’t save it.”

Could he have, though? It wasn’t like Helen was some outside force. Or even a dangerous one, really. She had been human. And now she wasn’t. The only thing she had going for her was an impressive sense of self-preservation. Honestly, Tim didn’t think there was anything that could stop that. Delay it, maybe, if he had known, but Tim thinks some things might be inevitable.

“I think I’ll miss Michael,” Gerry adds slowly. “I wasn’t sure I would. When we met, Michael was just something following me around. Every time it showed up, it would bug me about quitting smoking till it turned all my cigarettes into chalk.”

“I think it was just trying to show it cared,” Tim says gently.

Gerry doesn’t respond, but the distance between them feels more intentional now, though neither of them has moved.

“Sorry,” Tim says.

“The world’s going to end,” Gerry says. “I can wait.”

“I mean…,” Tim says. “We’re just sitting here. No reason we can’t talk, if that’s what you want.”

Gerry’s face softens momentarily.

“It’s better this way,” he says, after a pause. “Michael never wanted to be The Distortion. And it’s painful, to be something you’re not. But Helen knows what she is. Or she’s learning, at least. Whatever comes next will have a hard time dethroning her.”

“Cool,” Tim says. “Good for her.”

A truck pulls out of the wax museum.

“Oh,” Tim says, starting his car. “Shit. Didn’t expect to see them so soon.”

“Lucky break,” Gerry comments.

The truck drives to a cemetery.

“Are they going to…?” Tim asks. Two men get out of the truck and start walking with purpose towards a grave. And then one starts digging. “Of course. Not even death stops these freaks.”

“It looks like they’ve found their dancer,” is all Gerry says.

They wait for him to dig up the grave. It’s obvious which of the graves they’ve dug up, but since the truck’s not going back to the museum, Gerry offers to stay behind and check it out while Tim keeps following them.

They go to another graveyard, and the process repeats itself. Tim takes a picture of the graveyard and follows them for a bit longer, but when he realizes they’re just going back to the wax museum, he heads back to the grave, ready to find whatever poor sod they’ve taken to help them end the world. He hadn’t expected to recognize it, honestly. Out of everyone they could have been looking for, what was the chance that Tim would know them?

But he does.

Because it’s Gertrude’s grave.

The grave Gerry had gone to apparently belonged to someone named George Icarus. No date, no inscription, but Gerry had found someone to ask about it, and apparently it was relatively new, but it had never gotten any visitors. A sharply dressed middle-aged man had paid for the plot as a representative of the Magnus Institute, and that had been the end of it.

“Doesn’t explain who’s body it was, though,” Gerry says. “Can’t really imagine Elias going out of his way to pay for a burial. ‘Icarus,’ though. What a joke. How much did he hate this George guy, do you think?”

“They went to another cemetery,” Tim says, and he tries not to wince. Gerry sees his expression and sighs.

“Who’d they take?” he asks.

“Gertrude,” Tim admits. “Can’t believe they didn’t cremate her.”

“She definitely wanted them to,” Gerry says. “Guess Elias had other plans. Well, she’ll get her wish, anyway. Explosives are pretty good at things like that.”

Tim laughs, more because he likes Gerry than because he finds it funny. He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been expecting Gerry to have, but he definitely hadn’t been expecting the joke. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it himself, honestly. No matter what he felt about Gertrude, he didn’t like the fact that her remains could be so easily taken by something she’d spent her life fighting. He didn’t like the thought that Elias might have planned for this, had buried her specifically for this purpose. He didn’t like the thought that _Elias_ had been the one in charge of her burial at all. It looked like not even death could free Gertrude from the Archives.

“You going to tell Jon, then?” Gerry asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim says. “I’ll text him later. You look like you’re feeling better.”

Gerry frowns.

“Guess I am,” he says, a bit awkwardly. “Just needed a moment, you know? I don’t… I can’t do anything about Michael. I’m not great at being useless.”

Tim nods. He doesn’t mention that Gerry’s “moment” had lasted all morning because all things considered, that wasn’t that much time. Tim thinks if this was him, he wouldn’t be normal for at least a month. But if Gerry didn't want to feel useless, focusing on the Unknowing would certainly grant him that.

“We heading back now?” Gerry asks.

“Way too long of a drive,” Tim says. “Let’s do something fun while we’re here. Oh, let’s go to Pleasure Beach!”

Gerry raises an eyebrow at him.

“It’s an amusement park,” Tim says innocently. “Why? What’d you think it was?”

“I’m not really in the mood for roller coasters,” Gerry says. “What else you got?”

“They’ve got a couple museums, I think,” Tim says as they walk back to his car. “One has the whole history of Great Yarmouth. Mostly, it’s a lot of fish. Tide and Time? Or, no, other way around.”

“You swallow a tour guide or something?” Gerry asks with a laugh. “Why do you just know that off the top of your head?”

“We drove past it!” Tim protests. “I was just paying attention!”

They do end up going to the Time and Tide Museum, mainly just to stretch their legs. They’d spent far too long cooped up in Tim’s car waiting for something to happen that they might as well spend some time wandering around a museum, even if it is kind of for kids. Gerry still seems a little out of it, honestly, but Tim thinks he’s probably just tired. He says he’s having fun, and Tim takes his word for it. There’s a recreation of a fisherman’s home, and Tim teases it and the hypothetical sailors who would use it for not having electricity, and it’s enough of a bad joke to make Gerry roll his eyes. Gerry’s leaning against him when Tim hears someone call his name.

He knows who it is even before he turns his head, but the way he tenses makes Gerry jolt away, which then, unfortunately, makes him swoon at the sudden motion. Gerry, babe, he was so sorry, but unfortunately, the Eye hadn’t warned Tim that he was about to meet an ex-coworker, so this was a fun surprise he now had to deal with.

“Hey, Kate,” Tim says, trying to sound like there’s nothing he’d rather do than talk to a woman who had seen the freakout he had while quitting his last job.

Kate gives him an awkward smile. Yeah, she totally remembers. Ugh. Was this punishment, somehow? Tim had rejected the Archives, so now it was showing him just how painful it was to be caught unaware. Was this his fault? 

Next to Kate stands a tan woman who gives him a long look, squints at Gerry, then looks back at Kate, as if trying to see how they were all connected.

“It’s been so long,” Kate says. “How have you been?”

“Better,” is the answer Tim settles on. “But, ah, what about you? What are you doing here?”

“Oh!” Kate says. She gestures to the woman with her. “Eliza’s working on a book about the sea, so I thought it’d help to have some more local inspiration! And if we do, it’d be nice to have the museum recommend it for us, you know? A lot of kids come through here, and it’d be nice to see if we can take advantage of that.”

“Please don’t talk about marketing when I’m still working on edits,” Eliza begs, but it’s clear she’s joking. She smiles at Tim. “It’s my second book, but the stress hasn’t gone away yet.”

“Sorry to say, but that stress stays for life,” Tim tells her. He smiles back. “That book’s your baby. I’d be more surprised if you didn’t care. But don’t worry. Kate won’t let you publish a bad book. And she’s going to make sure all of London reads it.”

Eliza giggles at that, then looks back at Gerry.

“Oh,” Tim says. “This is Gerry.”

Gerry’s got his head on Tim’s shoulder. Tim’s sure, on another person, this would be sweet, but from the looks the two women are giving him, all they see is a towering goth, taller than even Tim. It feels a bit like trying to hold a conversation while being cuddled by a grizzly bear. Unfortunately, Tim has no idea what to say to change that. 

Actually, does he _want_ to? If Gerry scares them off, that means conversation’s over. Tim would _love_ for the conversation to be over. 

“We weren’t interrupting anything, were we?” Kate asks carefully. She doesn’t seem to know what to make of him. Should Tim say something? Call Gerry his partner? Except, they hadn’t really _talked_ about it, and Tim didn’t want to assume and make things weird. Like, yeah, _obviously_ Gerry liked him, but did Tim really want _this_ to be the first time he introduced them as an actual couple?

“It’s no big deal,” Tim says.

“We should catch up some other time, then,” Kate says. “Reminisce about all the last minute changes we’ve had to make to press tours.”

Tim snorts at that. Kate risks a glance at Gerry.

“Tim’s always been our rock, you know?” she says. “He’s like a lucky charm. There’s never been a problem we’ve had that Tim Stoker couldn’t fix.”

“Oh,” Gerry says. “You don’t know him.”

Kate frowns, confused, but Tim finds himself relieved that Gerry gets it. He knows Kate thinks she’s helping, telling a fun fact to make Tim seem like a nice, dependable guy, but sometimes having to fix those problems meant he stayed up for two days straight trying to get everything in order despite the fact that things like that always ruined his mental health. Because he was such a nice, dependable guy. 

“Excuse me?”

“Nevermind,” Gerry says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Uh, yeah, you too,” Kate says. She gives Tim an apologetic smile. “It’s nice to see you’re doing well, Tim, but since it looks like we’ve both got _very_ important things to do, but if you want to get a coffee or something, I’d love to catch up for real.”

“Sure,” Tim says. He has absolutely no plans on doing that. Tim is so happy that Gerry and his beautiful, terrifying face is scaring her off. “I’d love to.”

Kate and Eliza say their goodbyes and walk off, already in a conversation about sea shanties. As soon as they’re out of earshot, Gerry lifts his head up.

“Okay,” he says. “Tell me honestly; how much did you hate working with her?”

Tim laughs.

“Kate was fine,” he says. “I mean, we weren’t great friends or anything, but we were coworkers. Got along. She wasn’t the one giving me extra work, anyways.”

He really had loved publishing. Honest. He wouldn’t have let them work him so hard, if he hadn’t. And it got him promoted quick, sure, but that didn’t really matter now, did it? All that work had been for nothing, but at least he had gotten a few good books published before he crashed and burned.

Gerry just hums.

“Thank g-d she didn’t ask about work though,” Tim says. He groans. “Could you imagine? What the hell would I have said to that?”

“You’ve been doing a lot of research into local legends,” Gerry replies and the normalcy of it makes Tim laugh.

“Wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face,” he says. “Don’t know if you were doing it on purpose or not, but you definitely scared them off. You’re surprisingly spooky for such a cuddly guy, you know?”

“It was a little on purpose,” Gerry admits. “Honestly, I just had absolutely no idea what to say. Tends to freak people out, for some reason.”

“Oh, man, I wonder why?” Tim laughs. “Maybe because you’re covered in black, taller than everyone, and walk like you’re on your way to burn down a house?”

Tim had actually spent weeks marveling at the terrifying purpose Gerry walked with, only to realize that the reason he always looked like he was channeling a shark’s predator instincts was just a matter of health. Gerry hadn’t been super clear about his health problems, thought Tim could probably guess, but he got winded easily and had complained about a bad knee--and a bad skeletal structure in general, honestly--in addition to his bad balance. Gerry walked slow because he couldn’t run, and had decided this meant he had to look like something you couldn’t run _from._

Still. It did look kind of hot.

“Oh, good,” Gerry says. “That’s the kind of look I was going for. If you can’t tell what I’m about from looking at me, then I’m doing something wrong.”

“Pretty sure I’m only thinking that last part because I know you,” Tim says. “Don’t think you can expect everyone to see something like that right away. There’s kind of a limit to a first impression.”

“Just because they won’t see it on a first impression doesn’t mean they won’t see it,” Gerry says. “A second look’s just as important.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You’ve been dressing up when you plan on seeing me,” Gerry tells him. “First noticed when you brought me takeaway. You don’t care what you look like at the Institute. But you don’t want me to see you in joggers.”

“Oh,” Tim says. He hadn’t realized Gerry had been watching him so closely. It was embarrassing to be known so easily. And maybe a little reassuring, too. At least he knew that, with a keen eye like his, Gerry would probably notice right away if Tim got replaced.

“Did you shave for me?” Gerry asks.

“It wasn’t _just_ for you,” Tim says. He pauses. “The first time was, though. It was just easier to care more, I guess, when it was for you.”

Gerry’s grin is more than a little smug.

“Shut up,” Tim says. “I just wasn’t going to put in the effort of following a dress code, after everything. I mean, what would be the point? And it’s not like I was _dressing up._ I don’t normally look as pathetic as I do when I’m at work.”

Gerry keeps smiling. He scootches over and Tim sits down beside him.

“And I wanted to impress you,” Tim admits. “Just a bit. Didn’t realize I was so obvious. Didn’t even need your spooky Eye powers to tell you that, huh?”

“There’s not really a difference,” Gerry says. “I’ve always been good at noticing people, anyways, and people generally have things they want to get noticed. Or have things that need noticing. Doesn’t mean I always get it right. It’s kind of like painting, you know? No matter how much work you put into it, no one’s really going to get what you mean unless they ask you, but they might find something close. And just because they didn’t see why you painted it doesn’t mean they’re wrong, either. Sometimes, you can’t see a color as well as you’d like, so you don’t notice you’ve painted something weird in the background. I guess that’s what I do. Point out colors to the colorblind. But just because I see some colors doesn’t mean I see them all.”

“Huh,” Tim says. “Doesn’t really sound anything like how Jon described his thing.”

“Because I’m not an Archivist,” Gerry says. “They get knowledge, I get glimpses. Means I have to do my own legwork.”

“Fair enough,” Tim says. “Better to find your own sources, anyways. But why paintings?”

“Just how I see myself, I guess,” Gerry says. “I try to look kind of androgynous, you know? But just because someone sees me doesn’t mean they won’t go, ‘oh, that’s just a guy who wears make-up,’ when I’m not really a guy. Paintings can’t tell you what they mean, but just because someone says they’re looking at a painting of a fish doesn’t automatically mean they’re right. You don’t always see an artist’s influences, and sometimes that means you don’t get the metaphor they’re using, but that doesn’t mean it’s not _there._ And Art Deco’s always going to be Art Deco, even if someone else calls it Cubism. Sometimes people just don’t know what they’re looking at.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “Makes sense.”

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know Art Deco,” Tim says.

“Not much of a reason to learn about an art movement from the 1900s,” Gerry snorts. “Especially not in your line of work.”

“Maybe not,” Tim agrees. “But I mean--if you like it, I could learn.”

When they get back to their hotel room, Gerry immediately starts looking for extra doors. Tim watches his eyes scan the room, clearly expecting to see something out of place. When Gerry doesn’t find it, he lets out a small sigh. Then he notices Tim watching.

“Sorry,” Gerry says. “Force of habit, I guess.”

“You’re fine,” Tim says. “I get it.”

Gerry sits down and starts untying his boots.

“Didn’t realize how easy it’d be to miss,” he says. “But it was something I can count on, and now it’s someone else.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “And she calls you Gerard.”

“Because we’re not friends,” Gerry says, voice suddenly harsh. He sighs, releasing the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t blame her. I mean, I can’t. She was just trying not to get eaten. And she survived pretty impressively, too. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone overtaking an avatar like that. If it hadn’t been Michael, I’d be impressed.”

Tim just nods. Back when Michael had trapped him and Martin in its halls, he had seen Helen. Even knowing Michael and Gerry were actually friends, he couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of her. He’d spent a lot of time feeling guilty that Michael had let them leave, but not her. How long had she lived in those halls? Tim thinks she might’ve been trying to tell him something when they first met, but she was so far away, he could barely hear it.

Still, he’s surprised to realize that they’re both taking her side. Would he have wanted to see Sasha, he wonders, if the thing that got her had changed her like this? Would he have seen it as just another messed up thing in his life, or thank g-d that she had come back, regardless of form?

He thinks he would have wanted to see her. If there was some part of her out there, he’d need to meet them. But he thinks he wouldn’t be able to stand it. The real Sasha would always be the Sasha he loved. And the woman he loved was not a monster.

“At least she’s happy,” Gerry says. “Michael wasn’t. I mean, I don’t know too much about it, but it never did seem too happy I was working with Gertrude. I think it was in a lot of pain.”

“You said that,” Tim says. “Something about how it hurts to be something you weren’t supposed to?”

“Was that what I was saying?” Gerry says. He frowns, then kicks off a boot. “I don’t remember that. I mean, I guess I was in kind of a weird place.”

“You forget stuff a lot?” Tim asks. Gerry jumps on one of the beds, then frowns.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he says. “I’m actually not great at handling things. It’s funny your friends think so highly of me, honestly, because I don’t remember a lot of what happened in some of those statements you got about me.”

“You might’ve mentioned something,” Tim admits. Something about not realizing that most people don’t forget entire weeks because they spent time with their mother. He had said it so plainly, Tim hadn’t realized he was serious. Or hadn’t realized _it_ was serious.

“I thought you’d figure it out,” Gerry says. “Whatever you thought of me when we first met, I’m not usually like that. Thought you’d be disappointed.”

“In you? Never,” Tim promises. “I think I like the guy who makes fun of my taste in books just as much as I like the guy pretending to sleep off painkillers to avoid an awkward conversation.”

Gerry groans.

“I do remember that one,” he says. “Or I remembered that part of it, at least. I really did just want to sleep. Finishing off Molina took a lot out of me.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Tim insists. Gerry raises an eyebrow. “Okay, honestly, you want to know what I thought when I heard that statement? I thought, ‘Damn. That guy is a badass. I think he deserves a good rest because, clearly, he’s got a lot going on.’”

“I wasn’t really doing that much,” Gerry says. “Especially not after. My mum picked me up from the hospital. She was furious that I was too injured to hunt down anything for her. It was nice to have some free time, honestly, even if she was still around.”

“Oh,” Tim says.

“Not what you were expecting?” Gerry asks. He’s stretched out on one of the beds, hand on his chin. He looks comfortable. Tim wants to kiss him.

“Nothing about you is,” Tim tells him, taking a seat on the bed. “I guess I was kind of expecting you to be different when we first met. I had this image of you in my head as this terrifying guy who just--I don’t know--left a trail of supernatural destruction wherever he went. A part of me kind of hoped that the entities talked about you, you know, in some hushed tones. Like, ‘oh, we can’t do that. What if Gerry found out?’”

“And now?” Gerry asks, staring up at him. Tim lays down beside him.

“I think you could still do that, if you wanted to,” Tim says. And if people didn’t know him. Nothing about Gerry was ever as scary as it seemed at first glance. Not to Tim, at least. “But it doesn’t really seem like your style.”

Gerry shrugs.

“Mostly what I think, though, is that you’re the only person I know who knows what you’re doing. I think you could save the world, if you wanted to. You're hilarious, too. And I think you’re beautiful,” Tim says. Gerry smiles. “Can I kiss you?”

“Course,” Gerry says, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Tim’s lips are on his. 

The first kiss is soft, but Gerry presses his lips back on Tim’s, and now he’s buzzing with pure adrenaline because somehow, Tim’s found himself living in a world where he can spend the rest of the afternoon kissing Gerry Keay.

Tim’s a piner. He can’t help but think about what he’ll do with someone, once he gets that far. And he’s been thinking about Gerry _a lot._ How tall he is, how Tim would have to go a bit on his toes to reach him and pull him down or how he could instead just lace their hands together and kiss the eyes on his hand, and that he finally, right now, had the chance to kiss him on the piercing on his lips and could feel Gerry hands grabbing and his shirt, which was losing more buttons by the second, and pulling him closer and closer--

“Wait,” Tim says, a bit breathless. “You’re good, right? I mean, a lot happened, and you kind of just…”

“I’m fine, Tim,” Gerry says, wiggling out from underneath him. “I mean, I’m still not sure how to feel about… you know. But I’ve been thinking about this far too long to put it off now.”

“You’ve been thinking about this?” Tim teases. Gerry just shoots him a devilish grin.

“Now and then,” He says. Gerry moves closer to Tim, pushing him back to a sitting position and puts his lips close to Tim’s ear.

“You want to know what I’ve been thinking about?” he whispers. Tim shudders.

“What?” Tim whispers back.

Gerry butts his head on Tim’s chest.

“I want you to run your hands through my hair,” Gerry mumbles. Tim laughs. He runs his hand up Gerry’s back to his scalp and starts doing just that. Gerry hums, pleased.

“Anything else?” Tim asks.

“Mmm,” Gerry says. “Think this is it.”

Tim keeps running his hand through Gerry’s hair.

“You’re going to go after them, aren’t you?” Gerry asks. His voice is muffled, head still on Tim’s shoulder. “The Circus.”

“I think I have to,” Tim says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Gerry tells him. “I’d do the same. Just…”

“I know,” Tim says, because he does. And he knows there’s no promise he can make that’ll convince Gerry he’ll make it through the ritual. Still, he has to try. “I’ll come back. I mean, I haven’t even taken you hiking yet! There’s actually a lot of nice spots near London, you know?”

“Yeah?” Gerry says. “Tell me about them.”

They call Jon on the way home.

“Gertrude’s body?” he says. “Are--she wasn’t cremated?”

“Apparently not,” Tim says as Gerry goes, “Not yet.”

There’s a pause.

“So,” Jon says eventually. “What’s the timeline we’re working with? They have the Dancer, so now…”

“Now they’ve got to get the rest of the Circus in order,” Gerry says. “Still might take, like, a month. Maybe a bit more if we cause a fuss.”

“We can handle a month,” Jon says. “Tim, Gerry… thank you for your hard work.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Tim says. “Just a lot of sitting around. And hey, there was a great view.”

“The wax museum?”

“Me,” Gerry cuts in, smugly.

“Beautiful view,” Tim agrees.

“I’m sure,” Jon says. “I guess I’ll go back to looking for information here. Martin’s working on his… project, and you’re welcome to ask, once you get back. Until then…”

“I’m going to see if I can find some blueprints,” Tim says. “For the House of Wax, I mean. If we’re going to blow it up, might as well know where some of the load bearing pillars are and whatnot.”

“Oh,” Jon says. He sounds surprised. “Yes, that--that could prove to be very helpful.”

“I know I’m the only one here who knows anything about architecture,” Tim adds. “Might as well see if I can put all that know-how to good use.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Jon says. He hangs up.

“Helen said that she couldn’t hurt you,” Tim says slowly. “I mean, she doesn’t _want to._ She cares about you, you know? She was pretty clear about that. But that’s not what I mean. She said you having brain surgery meant she couldn’t get you.”

“Oh,” Gerry says. “Thought there might’ve been something like that going on. The hallways started looking different, after. At first, I just thought I was starting to get used to it, but Michael’s not really a thing you get used to.”

“Think that’s kind of the whole point of it,” Tim agrees. He hesitates. “Do you think it could be the same for the rest of them? I mean, if all it takes to get rid of one of the entities is surgery, well--we’re the eye. So…”

“Oh shit,” Gerry says. “Yeah, that’s--I mean it _sounds_ right, but would you really want to go through with that?”

“It’s just my eyes,” Tim says. “At least I can poke them out or something. Now, if I was working for _Michael…”_

“Yeah, probably not the best boss,” Gerry agrees. “But what I mean is: would it be worth it, for you? Probably wouldn’t be able to hike, blind. And I don’t know how you feel about audiobooks but, personally, I kind of hate them.”

“You can hike blind,” Tim says. “You just can’t do it alone. You just get a guide or something to tie yourself to. Honestly, it’s pretty easy to find a hiking group. And it’s not like I can’t still appreciate the fresh air. Maybe touch a tree or two. Probably wouldn’t be able to go kayaking, but that’s a small price to pay for freedom. You’ve got enough eyes for the both of us, anyways. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it _now,_ but, well. Elias has some of Gertrude’s tapes in his office. After we’re done with all this shit, we’ll go take them. If she knew anything about quitting, it’d probably be there, right?”

“She was planning on leaving them to the next Archivist so, probably,” Gerry agrees.

“So we have a plan,” Tim says. “We stop the ritual. We take the tapes. I gouge my eyes out, and then we go on a holiday to Italy. That’s perfect. Only four things.”

“Why Italy?” Gerry laughs.

“Doesn’t have to be Italy,” Tim says. “It just has to be with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerry's nonbinary and only talks about his gender in vague ways. Today's gender is working with a smaller canvas, just to try something new.  
> Anyways, do you think Gerry has weird feelings about kids' books because even as a child he was never given a book just to encourage his love of reading or for enjoyment or anything like that? Something to think about. Also, he is for SURE trying to push away all his feelings about Michael! The world could be ending! There's only so much he can take!  
> If you want more of my feelings about the distortion, I wrote a fic about it! "Choose Your Own Adventure" is now the second fic in this series, which is about Michael's life/unlife/death, and how he sees the people around him.  
> A few of you asked about Helen. I want you to know that if I included her where she showed up, canonically, it would have ruined the flow of the story. Also, Gerry finds Jon earlier than in canon, so she wasn't ready! Just had to incubate a bit longer.  
> Next up: The circus comes to town. Also, Tim takes Gerry hiking.


	5. To the Moon and Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s preparations to make, before the Circus comes to town. People to kiss, friends to talk to. And of course, a world to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I love you,” says the rabbit. “I love you past the forest, and the trees. I love you to the stars, and the moon, and whatever lies beyond.”  
> “And I,” says the other rabbit. “Will love you to the Circus and back.”

Elias can see everything, but not all at once, which means he can be distracted. Martin’s plan is to get his attention on him while Melanie sneaks into his office and grabs the tape with his confession, along with some other files, then goes to the police.

“You think you could grab Gertrude’s tapes, if you had more help?” Tim asks Melanie.

“I definitely wouldn’t be able to grab them and call the police in time,” Melanie says. “But if you have someone you can call to sneak into your boss’s office, well, I’d love to meet them.”

Tim hums.

“You do?” Melanie asks, delighted. “You’re really going to hook me up with some kind of partner in crime?”

“Don’t call my partner your hook-up,” Tim scolds. “He might not want to come. Not a fan of this place, as you can imagine.”

“Who is?” Melanie snorts.

“Fair enough,” Tim says. “If he agrees, though, he’ll want to get in through the tunnels, and that’ll mean more planning on your part.”

“Couldn’t we take the tapes after we’re finished with Elias?” Melanie asks.

“We don’t know what’ll happen to his office after the cops get him,” Tim says. “Last time they came, they took them as evidence. I don’t want to risk that.”

“Didn’t expect you to care so much,” Melanie comments.

“Just think they might have something important on them,” Tim says. He pauses. “If I’m right, you’ll want to hear it, too. I think… I don’t want to jinx it, but—but I’m pretty sure Gertrude made the tapes for us. For her successors, or whatever. That’s why he doesn’t want us to listen.”

“Think we’ve got a pretty good way of beating him without her help,” Melanie says. She sounds a bit smug. Tim smiles.

“We do,” he agrees. “But Elias isn’t the only thing out there.”

“Don’t be ominous,” Melanie chides.

“I’ve been looking into a way to quit,” Tim says. He hears Melanie take a deep breath, but can’t see her face well enough to gauge her reaction. There’s not enough light in the tunnels.

“And you think Gertrude knew?” Melanie asks. She sounds—conflicted?

“One of her assistants quit, actually,” Tim tells her. “If it’s happened before, it can happen again. More importantly, it can happen to _us.”_

There’s a long pause.

“Who else knows?” Melanie asks finally.

“You’re the first one I’ve told.”

“I— really?”

“Like I said, don’t want to jinx it. But you deserve to know.”

More quiet.

“Melanie?”

“You told me?” she says. “Me, and not Martin? I was really your first choice? We’re not—I mean, it’s not like we’re _friends.”_

“We could have been, I think,” Tim says. “I actually really liked your channel, you know? If someone had told me a year ago I’d be working with the great Melanie King, I think I would have cheered.”

Melanie snorts.

“Hey, you don’t know who I was before you started working here,” Tim protests, nudging her slightly. “I thought you were cool. I liked how authentic you tried to make everything look, even when things obviously weren’t haunted. I probably would have said something about it, actually, but I was just so…”

“Angry?” Melanie offers.

“Yeah,” Tim sighs. “That’s the word. I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you, before. I just hated how easily he trapped us all here.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Melanie grumbles. “But…”

Melanie sighs.

“You’re a lot less of a jerk than you used to be,” she says. “It’s a good look for you. And—yeah. I’ll talk to Martin. You talk to your partner. We’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you, Melanie,” Tim says.

“I’m not doing anything but saving my own skin,” Melanie insists. She pauses. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

“It’s fine,” Tim says.

“Is it?” Melanie asks. He thinks she might be raising an eyebrow at him.

“Is it that surprising I might think there’s more important things to do than yell at you for this?” Tim asks.

“Guess not,” Melanie admits. She sounds sad. “Just means I’m officially the angriest person in the Archives. Well, unless you count Daisy, and I don’t.”

“I don’t blame you for being angry,” Tim says. “Angry gets shit done.”

“That’s not all it does,” Melanie mutters. Tim doesn’t understand.

“It’s easy to be angry when you’re out of options,” he tells her. “But we’re not—not anymore. So, you know, maybe you won’t be the angriest person in the Archives after that. You might just be the angriest person in a coffee shop.”

There’s a pause before Melanie chuckles.

“Right,” she says. “One problem at a time.”

“There are tunnels under the Institute?” Gerry says.

“I said that, didn’t I?” Tim says. “That’s where we found Gertrude’s body.”

“Okay, fair, but there’s a big difference between ‘there’s enough space under this floor to hide a body or two,’ and having an entire _maze_ underneath a building that you can use to wander around undetected,” Gerry insists.

“Guess I could have been a bit more specific,” Tim agrees. “Hey—you good?”

“Gertrude mentioned the tunnels,” Gerry says, suddenly glum. “Part of the reason I thought you were exaggerating. She said there was no way there was anything like tunnels underneath the Archives.”

“That’s very specific.”

“It made sense in context!” Gerry’s frown deepens. “Knew I should have looked into it, but she just made it seem so _stupid.”_

Tim takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Gertrude’s dead. Sasha had been right. Gertrude Robinson was a stone-cold bitch, and Tim _hated_ her for it.

“I should have known,” Gerry says. “If I hadn’t been having so many damn headaches, I probably would have figured it out. Of course, she probably knew that, too.”

“She should have told you,” Tim says. “What the hell would she have had to gain from hiding something like that?”

“Guess we’ll never know,” Gerry sighs. “But… you’re sure Elias can’t see anything down there? Absolutely sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Tim says. “I wouldn’t have asked if I thought he’d spot you. I mean, there’s a risk, sure, and I won’t blame you if you don’t want to go. But if Gertrude has something to say, you deserve to know just as much as we do.”

“Honestly, I’m not even sure if Elias really doesn’t know I’m alive, or if he’s just acting like it because I haven’t bothered him yet,” Gerry admits.

“Well, this would probably bother him.”

“Yeah, no _shit,”_ Gerry snorts. “Might as well try, I guess. It’ll give me something to do while you’re…”

He trails off. Oh. Yeah.

“We should talk about this in the tunnels,” Tim says, rushed. “I could show you around. It’s not really that difficult to get around, not anymore, but if you want to go, you better really know the way.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Gerry agrees. “Sounds like a plan.”

Gerry’s surprised to see just how much of the tunnels there actually is. Martin’s surprised that the person Tim’s dating is white.

“Yes,” Tim deadpans. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. It has nothing to do with the other thing.”

“Oh, shit,” Martin says. “Are you Gerard Keay?”

“That’s me,” Gerry confirms.

“Who?” Melanie asks.

“He’s in some of the statements,” Martin explains. “Mostly shows up trying to stop something supernatural from happening, or looking for a Leitner.”

“Oh,” Melanie says. “Good for you, Tim.”

“Glad you approve,” Tim says dryly. “I guess I should… go? Probably shouldn’t learn more than I have to. You’ll be able to lead him out?”

“Uh, I think?” Martin says. “I definitely don’t know these tunnels as well as you or Jon, but I can definitely get to one of the exits.”

“Good enough for me,” Gerry says. “Can’t wait to see where I end up.”

Tim rolls his eyes.

“Take care of yourself,” he says. He pulls Gerry in for a kiss and Gerry responds with a happy hum. “See you after work.”

“Can’t wait,” Gerry says.

They go hiking sometime after that. Tim gives Gerry a hiking pole to borrow, because Tim’s not about to let Gerry ruin his cane on a trail. Also, hiking poles are sharp at the bottom, which means you can stab things. Tim thinks Gerry appreciates that.

“You know I’m going to be stopping every five minutes,” Gerry tells Tim.

“Yeah,” Tim says. He’d expected as much. “And I’ll stop with you. Because we’re doing this together.”

Gerry stares at Tim for a moment.

“Cool,” he says. “Lead the way.”

And Tim does. They stop every now and then, though not always because of Gerry. Tim has an app on his phone that can tell you what flower you’re looking at just by taking a picture of it, and he likes showing it off. Gerry thinks this makes Tim a nerd, and tells him so when Tim offers to use it on a plant Gerry’s staring at. Tim gasps.

“Sometimes, Gerry,” Tim says, voice filled with mock-outrage. “Learning can be _fun.”_

Gerry snorts, but he’s just as interested in the flowers around them as Tim is. Gerry tells Tim he’s never spent a lot of time drawing nature. When he does, it’s mostly moths and crows.

“And a lot of cool skulls, too,” Gerry admits.

“What a stereotype,” Tim says, shaking his head.

“Mmm,” Gerry doesn’t argue. “Might be time to branch out.”

Gerry takes a step, then hesitates.

“Do you think I could find a way to make sure you survived it?” he blurts out suddenly. “If you took me with you. I think I might be able to find a way out. If I couldn’t see one, I’d—I’d make myself see it. Whatever price…”

“No,” Tim says. “Don’t you dare. What if something happens to you? It’s not worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” Gerry says, frustrated. “I need you to make it out, Tim. I don’t care about the cost.”

“And what if we get split up?” Tim demands. “Sure, maybe you could save me, but you can’t predict what’s going to happen in there.”

“Not yet,” Gerry mutters.

“Gerry,” Tim says. “Don’t do that for me. Please. I don’t want to win if it means any of us becoming like them.”

“The Circus is the way it is because everything in it is terrible,” Gerry says. “I won’t be ‘like them.’”

“Sure, fine,” Tim says. “You’ll be like Jon. And Jon has to traumatize himself by reading about the fucked up things that happen to people, or he starves.”

“I just…” Gerry huffs, frustrated. “I wish I could help.”

“You are,” Tim promises. He walks closer to Gerry and puts his hand on top of Gerry’s. “Keep an eye on Martin for me, okay? Melanie, too. Messing with Elias is dangerous.”

“You’re the one planning on exploding a building on top of yourselves,” Gerry says.

“Just a little freelance demolition work,” Tim says. Gerry doesn’t laugh. “Listen, we’ve already planned out where the bombs’ll go off. As long as I can avoid that, I’ll be fine.”

“And if you can’t?”

“I can,” Tim says. “I will. I’m not going to let a few stupid clowns keep me from seeing you again.”

Gerry doesn’t look convinced.

“Tim,” he says, desperate, and Tim knows what he means is that he won’t know what to do with himself if Tim doesn’t survive. That he especially can’t handle losing him, so close to Michael. That he’s tired of having things that he could lose, instead of people that stay.

“I know,” Tim says. “I know.”

Tim rubs Gerry’s hand.

“I can’t die yet,” he says. “The weather’s finally getting nice, and I haven’t even had the chance to go kayaking yet.”

“You’re not getting me in a kayak,” Gerry says. He means it.

“I don’t want to,” Tim tells him. “You wouldn’t be able to paddle anywhere with those noodle arms.”

Gerry elbows him.

“It’s fine,” Tim says. “I’ll figure out some way to get you on the water. Might be too busy now, but next summer, for sure.”

“Mmm,” Gerry says. “I think I might like to see you try.”

Tim finds some demolition guides, but they’re all operating under the assumption that he’s not about to do something stupid like blow up a wax museum while he may or may not be still inside, so they’re more or less useless. One guide tells him that all he needs for a DIY home demolition is a can-do attitude, a willingness to ask for help, and the good sense to avoid electrical wires. It also says only to DIY if your house has only one floor. The House of Wax had two. Hmm. Well, good thing it wasn’t his house.

Tim also finds a copy of _The Anarchist’s Cookbook_ in Gerry’s house, but just because a book teaches you how to _make_ bombs doesn’t mean it’ll teach you how to _avoid_ them. So it’s not super useful either, other than the fact that now he had the power to just build a bomb he could set off in Elias’s office. Tim keeps learning so much from Gerry. Like the fact that the author apparently converted to Anglicanism sometime after he wrote it and became boring. Tim promises he’ll never be that much of a loser.

Also, apparently Peter Lukas had stopped by at some point to speak to Martin? Hadn’t really said anything useful, either, just very cheerfully stated that he was happy to finally meet one of the new assistants. Even asked how Elias was, as a boss. Seemed a bit surprised that they didn’t like Elias murdering Gertrude. Weird old man. They had enough problems without dealing with whatever that was, though, so Tim wasn’t going to make it his business. He was too busy learning about explosives.

At least with Daisy out there fighting clowns, they didn’t have to worry about Jon getting kidnapped again. The Archives felt surprisingly stress-free. They knew how to take down the Circus, they had a plan for Elias—there just _had_ to be something they were missing. It was almost too easy.

“Can’t we just have nice things?” Martin asks, when Tim mentions it. “Isn’t one kidnapping enough?”

“Buy some pepper spray if you’re so worried,” Basira tells him.

“Would pepper spray work on a mannequin?” Melanie asks.

“Probably, right?” Basira says. “I mean, they’ve got skin. They probably still feel it when you do things to it.”

“Mmm,” Melanie says. “Maybe carry around a knife, too. Just to be safe.”

Martin looks at them and shakes his head.

“You’re not going to want to be close enough to knife them, anyways,” he adds. “It’s not safe. Buy a bat or something.”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“I said I wanted things to turn out okay,” Martin insists. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want us _prepared.”_

Helen comes to the Archives. Tim can tell because the walls look a little taller, and because he can hear Jon shout at her through the door to his office. At first, Tim thinks it’s because she’s decided to kill him, and that’s the end of Helen’s promise to prevent suffering in the Archives and whatever, until Tim moves closer and realizes that she just… wants to help.

“We are both changing, Jon,” Helen says. “I had hoped I might grant you some clarity.”

“Get out,” Jon growls.

“But—”

_“Out.”_

And Helen leaves.

Tim pauses for a moment. He walks back to his desk.

“Helen?” Tim asks hesitantly. A door opens in front of him. “You good?”

“I led someone to my door, today,” Helen says. “I’m not sure if I feel about it.”

“Oh,” Tim says. “So you… killed someone.”

“Yes,” Helen says.

“And you feel bad?”

“Helen would,” Helen says. “Did you know that human children aren’t technically fully developed when they’re born? It’s because of your minds. If a child waits any longer to emerge, they’ll be too big, too filled with knowledge. That’s why human infancy takes so much longer than any other species. Children are still becoming.”

“Okay,” Tim says.

“If Helen stayed inside Michael any longer, we would not exist,” Helen says. “But this does not mean I was ready to leave. I’m not quite sure what will become of me.”

Helen looks back at her door.

“Jon wouldn’t accept my advice,” she says. “He wants the real Helen back, but it’s a silly thing to wish for, now. Creatures that break easily, or have sharp edges very rarely can become Real. Jon will not have an unreal friend, but that is what I am. And so we are at an impasse.”

“Um, sorry,” Tim says. “Was that a reference to _The Velveteen Rabbit?”_

“Michael liked it, I think,” Helen says. “Or Helen might’ve. The distinction isn’t that important. One of us loved the idea of being powerful enough to save a well-loved toy from extinction, but now, all I am is a creature without a heart.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Tim says. “You wouldn’t have saved Gerry if you didn’t care. And once you’re real, you don’t suddenly stop. Not for anything. That’s how the story goes, isn’t it?”

“Michael was the one who loved that story,” Helen says.

“Thought you said it didn’t matter,” Tim says. Was he really doing this? Convincing a monster she wasn’t that bad because she liked someone he cared about?

“I suppose I did,” Helen admits. “But I was real. And so was Michael. And now together, we’re something Unreal. An unstable home. I’m certainly trying to get everything up to regulation-standards, but I’m not sure if I can manage.”

“You remember being Michael, right?” Tim says.

“And I remember being Helen,” Helen says.

“Not what I was asking. But,” Tim gestures to her door. “If you want to be two people at once, I doubt the world could stop you.”

“It will matter to him,” Helen says. She frowns. Or, at least, her smile flips itself upside down. “That I’m not the same. It hurt Emma, to see us when we were new. I can’t stand the thought of hurting him.”

“But you can kill people,” Tim says.

“Yes,” Helen agrees. “I suppose that makes me a monster, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Tim says. “But plenty of people hurt people, too.”

He finds his gaze wandering to the door to Jon’s office. Helen’s eyes follow. He bats them away, then turns to face her.

“I think you should go see Gerry,” Tim says. “It’s not like he didn’t know what you were. He would have let you stay longer, you know. And maybe, I don’t know, it’ll give you both some closure. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“I know,” Helen says. “But I know it would have still hurt him to see me. I will not let Gerry hurt himself on me, Tim. No matter what I become, I know I will not be so cruel.”

Helen pauses, her outfit flashing colors like a loading screen menu.

“Oh,” she says. “I see. Thank you, Tim. This has been a very illuminating conversation.”

Her door is brighter than usual when she steps through it.

And then she’s gone.

“Cool,” Tim says. “Good talk.”

There’s not much to do in the Archives, other than stress out about how close their inevitable demise is, so Tim asks Melanie about Sasha.

“You never answered me, the first time I asked,” Tim says. He flings a rubber band at her.

“And you still want to know?” Melanie asks. She grabs the rubber band and breaks it with her teeth.

“I’ll always want to know,” Tim says. He very carefully sets down the other rubber band he’d been planning to toss her way.

“Well, it’s not like I knew her so well,” Melanie says. “But she seemed cool. I was—well, I was pretty mad, after Jon took my statement. But all it took was for her to tell one joke, and suddenly, I didn’t care. She promised me she’d look into what I said. Said she’d give Jon hell if he didn’t let her.”

Tim smiles. He can almost imagine that.

“What did she look like?” he asks.

“Uh. Tall,” Melanie says. “Not as tall as you, but close. Had a real cute pair of glasses, too. I think they were pink? And she had long blond hair. Dyed, obviously. Her skin was darker than yours. And you could see a little bit of the roots, but she made it work, I think. It almost looked a little intentional.”

“It was,” Tim says. He remembers. “Why bother redying everything when you could do half the work for the same reaction?”

Melanie snorts.

“That’s definitely not how it works,” she says.

“Took twice as long as it would have to just dye the whole thing back,” Tim says with a grin. “But she did it. Because Sasha James is not a quitter.”

He thinks he can almost see her in his head now, though maybe that’s just wishful thinking. But he could remember her now, and that was everything. It was still fragmented, still hard to grasp, but the memory was still a blessing.

“Thanks,” Tim says.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Melanie tells him. “I hardly did anything.”

“Yeah, but she—I don’t know, feels more real now,” Tim says.

“Just because you didn’t remember her doesn’t make her any less real,” Melanie says, and it’s surprisingly gentle, for her. “I just mean, that thing didn’t change the fact that she helped me. Or the fact that she helped try and make sense of this mess of a place. I mean, even if I went missing today, I’d still have my YouTube channel, you know? No matter what happens, something gets left behind.”

“I…” Tim pauses. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

Hadn’t he said something like that to Helen? You don’t stop being real. Not when your face wears down, or your fur gets rubbed away, or when there’s so little left of you that only the ones who love you can still tell that you’re a rabbit. You’d always be beautiful, to the right people.

“I’m still glad I know,” Tim says. “I don’t want there to be no one left that remembers her. The real her.”

“But now you remember her,” Melanie says. She flicks a paperclip his way. “And so do I.”

“Sounds like we’ll have to live forever,” Tim says. “For her.”

Melanie smiles at that.

“For Sasha,” she agrees.

Elias calls them all into his office a few weeks later. He says it’s important. He says the Unknowing’s getting closer. Tells them it’s good they have a plan.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Daisy mutters.

“During the difficulties in your absence, Jon, I took the liberty of taking Gertrude’s tapes into my safekeeping,” Elias says, completely ignoring her. “I have one now that I think may help.”

The tape he plays is about the last Unknowing. Nothing too important about the details—a bunch of freaky automatons, the feeling that nothing was real, and oh yeah—some soldiers who just decided to come in and blast the place to smithereens. Men after Tim’s own heart. Well, at least that proved that their plan should work.

Elias promises Jon that he’ll have an easier time seeing through the mess of everything. Jon looks tired, but not surprised. Then Elias gives Tim a long stare.

“I would advise to bring a team you can trust,” Elias says. “We don’t need any… rogue elements.”

“But where would they be without my devilishly handsome good looks?” Tim asks. Elias glares.

Martin stays behind, like they planned, but Elias seems shockingly unaware of the reason for it. There’s no hint of suspicion in his eyes as Martin insists on coming along, only to get shot down. Either they’re getting to be good at lying, or Elias is just good at not reacting. In the end, all Elias tells them is that Rosie has booked them a room at a bed-and-breakfast near the museum, and that they should keep their receipts. 

“Don’t worry,” Martin tells them, once Elias leaves. “We’ve got this.”

Gerry’s not happy about how soon everything’s happening. Tim doesn’t point out that technically, Gerry’s been waiting for years for the Unknowing to happen. It feels too soon for Tim as well. Hadn’t he just gotten this? Were they really going to make him fight, right after he had found his reason to rest?

But he still has to go. He knows he does.

Tim stares down at the recorder. They agreed to make their statements a couple of days in advance, so he’s just sitting alone in his house, with no one to overhear it. Still doesn’t mean he wants to spill his guts to this thing. Tim thinks he’s becoming hyper-aware of the sound of a tape recorder. A part of him thinks that if he turns it on, he won’t be able to actually say what he thinks. It’ll just be more of the bitter rage he always feels when he thinks about the Archives.

Tim hits ‘record.’ The sound barely registers.

“I don’t know what you are,” he tells the recorder. “I don’t even know if you’re listening. I don’t know if I care.”

The recorder whirls on.

“I think I hate you,” he says. “For listening. For _witnessing_ what’s happening to us.”

Tim sighs.

“Not really your fault I’m in this mess, though. I’ve been looking for people to blame long enough that I know there isn’t one. It’s not Danny’s fault, wandering off on his own, and poking around where he wasn’t wanted. Not my fault, for not helping him. It’s all just chance. The only thing you need to have your life destroyed is just bad luck. Take the wrong train, talk to the wrong person, open the wrong door, and that’s it! But…”

Tim thinks of Gerry. The night before, Gerry had spent the night in his arms. Tim had woken him up when he had tried to slip out of bed, and Gerry had just looked at Tim with sad eyes until Tim had pulled him in for a kiss and promised to make breakfast for the two of them. Gerry, still half asleep, had mumbled something about the bed not being comfortable without him and for a moment, Tim considered climbing back in with him. Considered telling Jon that he wouldn’t be coming, after all, because he didn’t want to risk his life doing something so _stupid,_ but…

But here he was.

There was still time to change his mind, but Tim didn’t think he would. As wonderful as he felt with Gerry, it hadn’t cured him of anything. He was still bitter. Still wanted revenge. But he wanted to _come back._ This wasn’t only about anger, not anymore. It was about closure. Making sure he knew that no one else would suffer like he had. Like Danny had.

“Not all surprises are bad, you know?” Tim says. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying this now, but… Sometimes you talk to the right person. You go wandering through a forest and somehow, against all odds, you find someone to love. I’m—I won’t mention him by name. He doesn’t want to be in the Archives, and I’m sure that’s where this’ll end up. I won’t be the one to drag him in. But it’s funny, I guess, how one person can make such a difference. 

“I used to think it was all about balance, you know? In some dusty architect’s work on symmetry. But he failed. Lived like anyone else, and died like anyone else. Whatever he was trying to achieve with his ‘balance and fear,’ I don’t think he found it. I don’t think anyone has. 

“I’m starting to think it’s a lot more complicated than that, anyways. I… I know someone who figured some of it out, but I doubt he’d see it that way. Probably wouldn’t call himself _balanced,_ either. Growing up like that, you’re definitely more on side than the other. But he’s—he’s _good,_ and that’s what matters.”

Tim pauses.

“Guess I’m getting a bit sidetracked,” he says. “But the only other person who actually did some damage was probably Gertrude. She hit them where they were vulnerable. And she was _ruthless._ And I… I don’t want Jon to be like her. Every time I learn something new about that woman, I hate her a little more. I want to believe that there was another way. But that just means that even Gertrude couldn’t figure it out, so what chance do I have, huh? I know this is dangerous. But I want to come back from this. I want…”

He wants to go home to Gerry. A couple days ago, Gerry had offhandedly mentioned that he had stayed in contact with these roommates he had in Pittsburgh, mainly through pictures of snakes. He had asked Tim to pose with Absynthe for him and Tim had grinned and asked if Gerry was showing off, to which Gerry had replied _“Oh, absolutely,”_ so Tim had gathered the snake up in his arms and blown a kiss. One of Gerry’s roommates said Tim looked like he was trying too hard, but he was pretty, so they were proud of Gerry and his new relationship status. Tim wants to live long enough to meet them in person. He wants to find out if Gerry ever talked to Helen—properly talked, he means. 

He had seen them together actually, but Gerry’s tattoos had looked different. More swirls, or something. They were harder to look at, and a part of Tim had wondered if that meant the conversation was private. Something for their eyes only. So he hadn’t stuck around. He’s sure Gerry will tell him whatever that was about, anyways. Tim just has to give him time.

“I want to live,” Tim says finally. “I want to finally sit down with Jon and have the most fucking awkward conversation of my life while he apologizes for accusing me of murder. I want to go down in the tunnels and finally deal with that _thing_ that convinced me it was my friend. And I want to _be happy._ Really happy, you know? I’ve spent a lot of time being bitter. I tried to get over it, but there was just _so much._ And it kept piling up. Even before Danny, I—well. That’s none of _your_ business. 

“The point is, it’s hard. I liked acting like I had it all figured out, but eventually, it got too much. After Sasha, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to make sense of it all. And then I met him. And I… I don’t know if I understand anymore then I did, honestly. But I know I want this to last.”

Tim pauses.

“Well,” he says. “That’s it, I guess. Statement ends.”

He clicks off the recorder.

Only four days left.

What else was left after that? 

Aside from spending as much time with Gerry as possible, obviously. Tim doesn’t even bother going to work. They know he’ll come. And it’s not like they’ve got enough of a plan for them to really need to be there to go over anything, anyways. He knows that if he went to work, all he’d see would be Martin and Jon dancing around each other, looking at each other with some kind of hopeful desperation, silently begging each other not to die, not when there was so much more left to say.

He didn’t have to be in the Archives to know what they were like. He thinks he wants them to be happy. He still doesn’t think he’s forgiven Jon. But he wants him to be happy. It’s a new feeling. Tim has a bad habit of keeping grudges, and another bad habit of forgiving too quickly. He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t actually hate Jon. He just hasn’t forgiven him. Tim wasn’t used to that.

So he hangs out with Gerry, who tells him that he has Ehlers. Tim had recognized some of the symptoms because Jon has it too, but he appreciates the confirmation. Gerry rolls his eyes when Tim says that, and says he wasn’t hiding it or anything, then gripes about how despite that, he’d only developed POTS _after_ his surgery, despite the comorbidity. Poor Gerry.

Tim doesn’t tell Gerry he loves him, though he wants to. He hasn’t had a chance to say it yet, which means it’s too late. Tim doesn’t want to say something just because he thinks he won’t get a chance to say it later.

When he gets back, Tim promises himself. Gerry won’t hear him say like he’s whispering it through his dying breaths. He’ll say it when he comes back, alive and well, and he’ll say it a hundred more times after that. Tim will say it in the morning, when he makes them breakfast. He’ll say it when he sees Gerry coo at Absynthe, and when he lets her make herself comfortable curling around him. He’ll say it just because he feels like it. Because he can. Because he’s alive, and Gerry is too. And because he loves him.

So when the day comes, Tim kisses Gerry. Tells him he’ll be back soon, just as soon as he causes some trouble for some clowns. Gerry grabs Tim’s wrists when Tim pulls him into a kiss, and doesn’t let go.

“Babe,” Tim says, smiling. “Come on, Ger, I’ve got to go.”

“Promise me,” Gerry says. He’s not smiling. Tim pulls him closer.

“I promise,” Tim says. “I’m going to come back, and I’m finally going to go on a real date. One without any weird shit.”

“Thought we went on a date,” Gerry says. “Why else did I go hiking?”

“Doesn’t count,” Tim insists. “You didn’t enjoy yourself enough. And I can—I can definitely do better. I’m going to take you somewhere so great, you’ll just swoon into my arms, that’s how romantic it’ll be.”

“I already swoon,” Gerry says. There’s almost a smile on his face.

“Not because of me,” Tim says. “Which is fine, I get it. I can’t compete with biology! But I’ll get there. Just you wait and see.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Gerry says.

“Good,” Tim tells him. “Have fun stealing shit from Elias.”

“Oh, I _will,”_ Gerry says. “Have fun blowing up a circus.”

“I will,” Tim promises. He gives Gerry one last kiss. “I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

A few hours later, Tim’s checking in to the B&B with Basira, Daisy and Jon. A few hours after that, they’re going over the plan. Daisy’s showing them which walls she’s going to attach explosives to, and how much each wall gets. She doesn’t seem too happy to have to explain it to them, but she does. Time keeps passing. They get to the museum, and Daisy starts loading up the explosives. The wax figures in the museum are terrible, and Tim makes sure to let everyone know he thinks so. Jon laughs, despite himself. Daisy tells them she’s finished securing the bombs, and then…

Then they hear music.

The Unknowing is—

The Unknowing is _not_ , it’s—

The Unknowing makes him—

He sees—

Danny’s asking him to read him a story. Sasha tells him she loves him.

A monster in the skin of a person smiles at him.

Gerry tells him he loves him.

Jon is—

Is Jon here? He should be, right? They came in together, didn’t they?

“I’m right here, Tim,” Sasha says. “It’s me, Jon!”  
“Jon!” Tim says. “I was looking for you.”

Jon grins. His teeth are razor sharp. Or, no, does he have teeth at all? Jon’s not human. He was… Jon was… a mannequin?

Danny’s asking him to read him a story.

No, that’s silly. Why would Danny want a book? Danny’s asking for a dance.

Except no, it’s not Danny asking, it’s Sasha, except it’s not. 

Nikola’s cold plastic face stares back at him.

A part of him still sees Sasha. She’s not real. But that’s fine. She’ll always be real to him. Because no matter what had happened, Tim had never stopped loving her. And that meant she never stopped being real.

But Nikola was not the real Sasha. And that meant she had to go.

 _I love you,_ Tim thinks. There is something in his hands. Something important. _I love you enough to remember the way the world has changed you. I love you enough to remember who you were, when you were real. I love you enough to change the world for you. Te quiero mucho. Te amo._

But there is still someone waiting for him.

“Tim,” Jon says. “What do you see?”

 _I see a way out,_ Tim thinks.

The world explodes.

Tim does not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT'S IT!  
> There will be more Velveteen Rabbit, after this. I do still need to have Gerry and Tim listen to the tapes, and have Tim actually QUIT. And I also have a small (its already 9k, but shush) prequel about Gerry and his roommates. I can't promise it'll be up by next Monday, but I can promise you it'll be fun. In the meantime, feel free to stop by on Tumblr if you have any questions about this universe, or just want to talk gerrytim in general!  
> Also, Gerry having Ehlers Danlos Syndrome was actually mentioned in previous chapters! It's not something anyone who didn't already know my hcs noticed, but Jon mentions him helping him set a dislocation, and that he "understood the pain." It's also why Tim says he thinks Gerry has a "bad knee, and a skeletal structure" last chapter. And while I'm speaking about headcanons: Tim has borderline personality disorder!  
> I'm really glad so many people liked this. I didn't think a rare pair would make people so excited, but so many people have left wonderful comments on this, or have told me how much they loved it, and I'm really glad to hear it.  
> Also, thank you to Ron @gerrydelano for betaing the last chapter! Every conversation we have had about Gerry has made this fic better, and need you all to know that. And shout out to Viv @avatarofthebeholding for reading over it as well, and making a joke about Tim writing a book review for the DIY stuff he checked out and complaining that they were too safety conscious to be helpful. Also, while I'm shouting out people, thank you to Parker @cuttlefishkitch for reminding me that the Anarchist's cookbook exists, and that Gerry for SURE owns it. My friends are all so funny, and I love them.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @ofdreamsanddoodles where I will not shut up about Gerry Keay


End file.
